Over the Sand Dunes and Through the Woods

So I went camping for the first time [gasp!]. Not a huge feat, obviously, but for a city girl who grew up surrounded by more buildings than trees, the wilderness of the woods is a very different thing than the wilderness of the world.

What lessons did I learn on this magnificent venture into the sandy sand dunes of Oregon, you ask? Read on!

I learned that leaving your tennis shoes on the outside of the tent may require you to hustle when it starts raining at 3 AM, lest you experience the dreaded soggy-foot syndrome.

I learned that sand boarding is superbly great, but the walk back up that dang hill could also go by the name of Thigh Burning Stair Master of Death 3000.

I learned that dogs make for exciting campsite companions.

I learned that crows make for stupid campsite companions.

I learned that board games can be just as fun when played by flashlight, but cleaning up may prove tricky.

I learned that disconnecting from the world of technology for a weekend is truly great…right up until the moment you turn your phone back on and it almost self-combusts from all the stored up notifications.

There you have it, my priceless insights. All in all, a very successful weekend filled with good food and great people.

Next experience to conquer as a Seattleite? Learning how to parallel park between two SUVs, on a hill, in the rain, with 17 cars behind me. Yikes.

Whistle While You Work

“But [my daughter] also said, around the same time, ‘Mother, you’ve been very cross and edgey with us lately, and we’ve noticed that you haven’t been writing, and we wish you’d get back to the typewriter.’ A wonderfully freeing remark. I had to learn that I was a better mother and wife when I was working than when I was not.”-Madeleine L’Engle*

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Now, I am neither a mother nor a wife, but I still find that I relate with the sentiment L’Engle shares. I have had to learn that I am my best self when I am engaged in purposeful work. For a long time, I have warred with the perception that work and enjoyment are at odds with one another.

Do I work to live or do I live to work and is there any middle ground?

The memory is still clear to me of a friend in high school disregarding my involvement with student government because it limited my ability to spend time with him, which he saw as the more rewarding and satisfying activity. My “work” was, for him, getting in the way of what really mattered: enjoying myself with my friends. To be fair, student government did limit the amount of free time I had, but it also scratched an unreachable itch in my soul. I felt most alive, most confident, most useful as I worked to accomplish goals outside my own personal interests. And sure, raising money to buy lockers for our school may not have been world-changing, but it was life-changing for me.

So is there a happy marriage between the work of my hands and the joy of my heart? Is there a way to maintain the value of a job well done without sacrificing the fulfillment of a life well lived? Everything in me demands to believe so.

I read a blog post recently where the author gladly declared that she hopes to work until the day she dies, and everything in me responded “YES! YES!” Work does not need to be divorced from enjoyment. Instead, one can feed into the other to produce a more complete life. For me, to give up work would be to give up a part of my identity.

That is the life I want to live: one where I am most joyful precisely because I work.

This is the life I strive to live: one where I am a better sister, daughter, and friend when I am working than when I am not.

I cannot be the best version of myself if it does not include putting my hands to the proverbial soil and tilling the ground beneath my feet. And when the harvest comes, my soul relaxes, joyfully knowing I have been faithful to what was given to me.

 

* L’Engle, Madeleine. Walking on Water: reflections on faith & art. Wheaton, Ill.: H. Shaw, 1980. Print. Pg. 166.