Nothing Ventured, No Ground Lost

A head cold, a forced pause, the quiet relief of not being useful – a day that asked nothing of me.

Today’s ambition. Photo by Author.

Rooting through the tin of loose tea bags, I found what I was seeking: black chai tea. I’m neither a connoisseur of tea nor a regular tea drinker — unless I am super cold or under the weather. And currently, I am both. I’d like to fill the bathtub, soak in a tea, and have the herbs infuse my entire body.

An Epsom salt bath was the next best thing. For about 30 minutes I breathed in the steam and let my nose run freely.

Normally, I’m aggravated by being sick. I have a hundred things to do and a cold is a speed bump in the middle of my rat race. But that’s one of the beautiful things of being empty-nested and semi-retired: my rats can idle.

That isn’t a humble brag. Just a reality. I have the luxury of time to ponder what ails me.

Right now I am obsessed with my cold feet. I’ve put on a second pair of socks to no avail. You’d think I was standing outside barefoot in this 18/-7 degree weather. Nope. I’m huddled on the sectional that sits in the front of my house bathed in sunshine.

Instinctively, I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out a semi-wet tissue to blot my eyes. Not a bright move. Ten minutes ago it was my nose – but, now my eyes are in on the act.

The tea feels so lovely on my throat, which isn’t really sore so much as achy.

I planned on spending the day writing about a day in Leonora’s life when she was around eight and working with neighbor kids to clear stony soil. Stones are assassins to blade tillers. It’s obviously one thing to pick out rocks in a modest garden. It’s another thing to do so over 20, 30, 40 acres.

What a crazy Sisyphean task. Every year, the long-winter’s frost soaks into the hidden sandstone, breaks it apart, and heaves stones to the surface. Clearing them is never finished — only paused.

I’ve spent most of my life measuring days by how much I accomplished. Today, nothing is advancing — and yet, unlike in the past when parenting or work were at stake, no ground is lost.

Being sick strips the day down to essentials. Heat. Light. Something warm to swallow. A snoring dog.

Instead of writing about Leonora and stone boats and her neighbors, I am sipping tea, wondering how much snow we might get this weekend, and thankful that no one expects me to be useful today.

Even me.

This week’s essay is intentionally small - time to get your storm shopping done. If you enjoy reflective writing like this, I’d love to have you as a subscriber.

What I Am Reading

Before I decided to give in and not do much, I re-read Martin Luther King’s Letter from a Birmingham Jail, whose words from 1963 resonate today. He was writing a response to clergy who demanded he condemn peaceful action because those actions can precipitate violence.

But is this a logical assertion? Isn’t this like condemning a robbed man because his possession of money precipitated the evil act of robbery? Isn’t this like condemning Socrates because his unswerving commitment to truth and his philosophical inquiries precipitated the act by the misguided populace in which they made him drink hemlock? Isn’t this like condemning Jesus because his unique God consciousness and never ceasing devotion to God’s will precipitated the evil act of crucifixion?

A year ago …

I had to laugh. Last year I was feeling guilty for reading instead of writing; for reading fantasy instead of classics; for reading fantasy instead doing billable work. This year I am peace with doing nothing. What a difference a year makes!

What do you do when the weather causes a pause in the action? Tell me in the comments below!