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Dear friend,
For nearly six weeks this summer I stayed in a simple cabin built by my grandfather and aunt. It sits near a lake, on a piece of land I first visited while in my mother’s womb and while the cabin existed only in blueprints. As my plans to spend time there came together last spring, I pictured expansive, leisurely days and an opportunity to finally slow down. To a degree, that was the case. But it’s also true that I stayed busier than intended and then got sick for a week as the summer was winding down. The long, unhurried days I'd imagined never quite materialized.
Something else did, though: precious moments of spacious awareness. Morning coffee sitting by the lake, listening as the world woke up. Or watching through a window as a storm blew in – grey clouds increasing, hanging heavy, spilling gentle rain before growing decidedly less gentle, wind picking up, thunder and lightning peaking… then giving way to wet grey/green drip-punctuated lushness. Once, I heard the sustained flapping of wings by the resident eagle a neighbor had mentioned, taking off after a catch. The 1700-mile drive north, spread over a week, had also been intentionally relaxed; it included visits to both the retreat center where we’ll gather in October and a Centering Prayer group that's been part of our contemplative family since 2017. What a gift to be in various places, with various people, enjoying moments of connection and presence.
As my time to depart approached, I found myself surprised by how quickly joyful anticipation of the trip home displaced the wistful nostalgia of bidding this special place farewell. Part of me was tempted by discouragement as I reflected on various frustrated hopes and imaginings, but a choice to focus on gratitude changed the inner landscape. Not only did I find many gifts as I looked back on the prior weeks; it also dawned on me that many of the visits I’d lined up for my journey down the eastern seaboard were with contemplatively inclined friends from different chapters of my life – people who have cultivated the art of being present to what is, and who tend to meet the world with more curiosity than judgment.
I’m writing this as I make my way south, stopping here and there for several hours or a couple of nights, remembering that, at its core, Praestolari’s work is really about recognizing and living into the connection that underlies existence – connection to God, to ourselves, to one another. It can happen by a lake or at a restaurant, as well as on a prison rec yard. Anywhere we choose to slow down and tune in, with the intention of simply attending to what is.
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