.the soft in-between.

Friday was the last working day of the year. I left work early, four instead of 5:30. It's been sometime since I've left work in the light of day, so when I walked out to the overcast but light sky I was thrilled. The day seemed to have a surprise extension. When it was time to turn off onto my street, I just kept driving to a nearby trailhead. I haven't hike after work since probably October. With just enough light for a quick hike, I set out on the soft trail. 

It feels strange to be here, at the end of the year. January and February feel like forever ago but it also feels like it was just June. As with all across the world, the weather isn't aligning with traditional timekeeping. We've only had maybe two snows this winter with one sticking around for a day or so. The foothills barely have a dusting on them. The earth smelt musty and fresh like spring. The pungent burn of sage rising up to my nose. It felt strange to be on the edge of the new year and hiking in the surrounding of a false spring, a different moment of transition. These illusive boundaries of here and there, now and then. The lines seems to continue to blur as time goes on. It made me think about these moment of the soft in-between, the waiting, the pause.

 

I was listening to Tara Brach's podcast episode about the sacred pause and one part I loved was: 

"Pausing is really a way of reconnecting with what I sometimes call Being-states — the very essence-states that express who we are. At one point, the well-known pianist, Arthur Rubenstein, was asked: “How do you handle the notes as well as you do?” And I loved his response. It was really immediate and passionate. He said, “I handle the notes no better than many others. But the pauses, ahh, that’s where the art resides.”

 I wonder how I can be more present + attuned to the sacred pauses.