Day 125: Autopilot Mishaps

 

Yuck! 

This was my Saturday night. I went to my friend Sam's house for a chill dinner hangout. 

"They sprayed my apartment for cockroaches recently, so I've been seeing a lot more as they come out to die," Sam shared with me.

I didn't think much of this - seemed reasonable to me. We live in a city, afterall. 

We barely registered the daylight's slow disappearance until we went to the kitchen for water.

That's where it happened.

Where I saw something on the ground, immediately assumed it was food, reached down and picked it up.

It was not food.

I didn't know that until after my friend told me - which was also after I felt the wet squishy-ness between my fingers.

I had been running on autopilot.

This gross experience is a PERFECT illustration of what living on autopilot is like - and results in.

Imagine going through life in the dark - you know, like a kitchen with no west facing window, at dusk.

You can make things out around you, but it's not super clear, and there are a lot of assumptions flying about. 

In autopilot, it often feels you're at the mercy of whatever situation or circumstance you find yourself in. It can seem like you don't have much choice or control over what comes your way in life.

But there's one way to change all of this.

Turn on the light.

To turn on the light is to drop assumptions, try on different perspectives, and check your self-awareness.

It may sound like a lot, but really it's not. Turning on the light can start with something as simple as a question. Such as . . .

But how do I know it's a piece of food?

Don't be like me.

Avoid picking up cockroaches. Take the short pause needed to make sure you can really see.

Day 124: Happy Memorial Day

Happy Memorial Day from ours to yours!

Oh, sorry, we forgot to put our faces on.

Hope you enjoyed your day!

Day 123: Page 123

I found this lone page on the sidewalk.

Upon further observation, what did I see?! It was page 123!!

Upon even FURTHER observation (zooming in to read the page) I saw it was very strange content - especially to read completely out of context. 

I have no idea what book this is from.

Isn't that just like life? 

We're all reading from our own books. They make sense. 

But when we read a page from someone else's book it can seem foreign, strange, and at times glaringly wrong.

No matter what we read or interpret from the pages of others, we get to write our own stories. 

What does your Page 123 say?

Day 122: Beavers Build Resilience

After my heartbreak from the clean cutting of trees I witnessed the other day, I decided I wanted to enjoy the untouched areas of North Pond while I still can. 

That meant visiting as much as possible - at least the areas of beauty that still brought me the feeling of peace and calm.

At this point, there is roughly half the perimeter to work with. Lucky me, it's the side with the beaver den - which I only just learned the location of.

I had heard rumor of a beaver living in the pond when I first moved to this neighborhood, roughly a year and a half ago. I'd had a few speculative sightings, assuming the identity of the mid-sized creature I saw swimming across the pond that was definitely not a bird. But I never thought I'd see the beaver up close.

Then, one Monday - May 16th to be specific - I saw it! It was hanging out under a tree leaning over the water. In my excitement and desire to gaze upon it for as long as possible, I didn't even chance a picture.

This time, however, was a different story. I GOT MY PROOF!!

 

Do you feel like a nature explorer peering through the trees?! 

 

Look at the texture on that tail!

For the second time sighting the beaver I was again able to point it out to a few other nature lovers.

By the time nature lovers #4 & #5 joined us, the beaver decided to leave.. Our small group of five, however, stayed a while longer. 

It was consoling to hear from fellow North Pond enthusiasts that they, too, shared in my feelings of surprise, shock, and disappointment in how the restoration was unfolding.

We all felt a bit duped by how the project had been presented. Clearly, the message had not been received as it was intended. 

While the shadows of concern and dismay were strong, something else began to poke through the darkness.

Resilience.

The reminder that animals live by their instincts. If they are unable to get what they need in one area, their biology will instinctively move them to a place that they can. Or at least they will set off in search of such a place.

The same is true of us - humans. 

While we may not always use it or be as attuned to it as others, we all have instincts and intuition that can guide us. No matter what the situation or circumstance, we possess the navigation system needed to move us to an area that will provide us what we need.

This doesn't mean it will be easy - or automatic - especially, if we don't have a clear idea of what 'what we need' really is. 

But with intent, time, and effort we'll know ourselves like we know the back of our hands! And navigating to new areas that will provide for us better than our current place and circumstances will become the new 'autopilot'.

Day 121: RIP the North Pond I loved

I went for a walk around North Pond yesterday. 

It was different than normal. More somber. 

The $7 million pond restoration project has started. It will help prevent future pond erosion and overtime will attract an even broader array of birds and animals.

I know it's good for the health of the ecosystem, but I can't help but feel a bit sad about it . . .

On my way to the pond I found a dead Mourning Dove laying on the sidewalk. For some reason it really startled me. I don't think that's quite the right word. But it hit harder than I would have expected. Probably because I used to feed them out my apartment window (that is, until the building told me to stop).

As soon as I saw the dove I got a weird, heavy feeling. Preparing for something worse, it seemed in a way.

Once I reached the pond I was met by another shock. A dead turtle float just under the water's surface.

My heart sank. 

Then I looked across the pond to the other side and was horrified by what I saw. By what these little omens may have been leading up to. 

I saw undeniable proof of the project starting. But nothing about it looked restorative.

In the limited section of work every tree along the shoreline, healthy or not, had been cut down. 

I didn't think my heart could sink any lower. Then something dawned on me. 

I knew I really liked the North Pond, but dare I say I LOVE North Pond?

It seemed a silly question to ask - of course I loved the pond! But to realize the depths of that love was enlightening.

I always knew I loved animals, but now I was VERY concerned. I just saw a dead turtle floating. 

What's going to happen to the rest of them? 

Where will they go? 

What's going to happen to the beaver (that I finally saw up close)???

I continued my way down the path, momentarily distracted from my concern by a squirrel hanging upside down by its feet in order to reach some seed pods in a tree.

This is why I love North Pond.

By the time I reached the other side of the pond my smile from the squirrel was long gone. 

I paused to look forlornly up the shoreline. Missing the leaning trees and majestic secrecy they created for all of the birds and animals that lived there.

This is what it used to look like in the clearing captured in the photo above:

But now all that's left is this:

I was touched by the fake flowers someone left - I can only imagine - as a memorial.

Day 120: 107%

Wow, I don't think I've ever seen sugar listed at over 100% of the recommended daily amount before!!

Why does it have to be so high, though?!

Can't they just cut back like, say, 7%? You know, make it an even 100% of the recommended daily sugar amount?

All the sugar you need in order for your body to function can be obtained through this one bottle.

Wow, it's just like a meal replacer - but it's for the whole day . . . and night . . . and only for one nutrient class . . .

Yep, sounds like a good idea to me!

Day 119: Not Relaxing

 

 

 

Worst. Vacation. Ever.

. . . at least for a mischievous kid . . .