Aimlessly Wandering
A sidewalk that vanishes by a dumpster, three old ambulances, and the lush glory of coleus
We were told to go outside and aimlessly wander for 10 minutes.
“This is a cinch,” I thought. I live most of my life feeling like I barely know what direction I’m going, sometimes literally and sometimes figuratively. In the two years I lived in Seattle, I was lost 80% of the time. I would set out for the grocery store and inexplicably, turn right when I should have turned left. Once lost, I would go down one road and up the next until eventually, I found something familiar. No GPS system could help me. I simply lived in a state of perpetual disorientation.
This wasn’t at all unpleasant. Being lost felt comfortable, familiar. It was a relief from having to cling to roadmaps that I only half understood.
So with my Aimless-Wandering assignment fresh in my mind, I was excited. I started off toward a little park but to my surprise, found myself turning to an alley between two buildings. It wasn’t exactly an alley but instead, a cross between a sidewalk running between the cement-block walls of two industrial buildings, and the place where I could imagine a man in a trench coat offering to sell me a genuine Rolex watch for $30. I held my arms closer to my sides so I didn’t accidentally touch anything. The sidewalk led to a parking lot, which I crossed diagonally, and then vanished by a dumpster. There, I wandered by some paper, a twisted piece of clothing (a shirt maybe?), and broken glass. “It’s curious that there aren’t any used condoms here,” I thought.
I wandered on, searching inside myself for the feeling of openness and connection I assumed I would find. “Shouldn’t I feel expansive by now?,” I wondered.
I noticed another sidewalk to the left. This one, for a brief moment, seemed to lead to a green space but instead, ended at another parking lot, empty except for three old ambulances in need of repair. One was on cement blocks, waiting for fixes that would probably never come. I tried to assess the drivability of the other two. “Does an ambulance company really operate from here?” It seemed unlikely. The asphalt beneath their wheels was cracked. Grass filled the tiny voids.
My alarm rang and my assignment was done. I turned toward the retreat building, this time with purpose. The route back to the workshop was flanked with wooden flower boxes filled with coleus in lush glory. I passed couples enjoying their Saturday morning coffees and picking at oversized scones. I walked by a mural with whimsical trees and birds, painted with colors straight from the tube. At the end of the mural, I pulled open the door and went inside to finish my workshop.
I spent my ten minutes following my nose, assuming I would find connection and expansion. I found three old ambulances instead.
If you often find yourself in the “alleyways” of your own experience more than the lush gardens, I’d love to know. Even a “Yes” in the comments tells me you’re here in the wandering with me.
Caring for Loved Ones Who Don’t Want Care
We've all had the experience of caring for someone who resists every kind action we take. It can be maddening. Today we're going to share how we offer support while still letting our loved one have autonomy. Where are the lines between the two? Join us to share your experiences and how you have navigated this tricky line.
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Monday, June 8 at 11:00 CT
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