I love the feeling of coming out of a rut.
The rhythms of life sometimes go stale. You find yourself preparing the same meals every week, going through the same routines, taking the same walk, doing the same chores.
Then one day the whole world feels electric again, your brain buzzes with ideas, and you can’t wait to start something new.
I used to imagine that I could keep myself from falling into a rut in the first place. But I’ve come to accept that ruts are necessary. The constant cycle of coming in and out of them mirrors the seasons. Fall brings fresh starts. Winter lulls us to a slower pace. Spring pulses with promise … then the sluggish heat descends.
Yesterday was a day for coming out of ruts. The sunshine made the air almost glittery.
My son and I weaved up hills, stomped in puddles, took photographs of trees, and pointed out birds to each other. We closed our eyes and turned our faces to the sun.
I’ve never wanted to live in the tropics. I love seasons. Even though winter’s darkness and summer’s heat almost always come to feel unbearable at some point, that makes the coming season feel all the more welcome. And they give life its rhythms.
My life has its own rhythms right now – dough rising, bread baking, stews simmering, fingers fluttering across the keyboard, words appearing on the computer screen, the never-ending washing and drying and folding of laundry, the squeak of the swing set as my son goes back and forth. I love these routines. I feel grateful for this abundant life. But sometimes the sameness of it all, day after day after day, can feel almost as unbearable as a subzero December week or a scorching August afternoon.
And then a spring day comes along to remind us that what seems permanent right now will be gone before we know it.