I’m trying to do too much at once today.

Ever have moments (or hours) like that?

There are at least two reflection ideas vying for my attention while I’m also working to get caught up on content for the online course I’m taking on how to be a kinder human being so I’m ready for our Zoom class this afternoon. I’m two chapters into a book recommended by a fellow writer that’s twisting my brain into wonderful new learning knots and I want to send a quick message to thank him and let him know what I’m processing so far. It doesn’t help that even with today’s steady rain, I want to head down the path to the sweat lodge to do a better job of rearranging its covers after last Friday’s windstorm undressed it down to its sycamore branch ribs.

Pick one, right? That’s the sensible approach to all these options, and most of the time, my organized mind would have these prioritized and scheduled so that when I wake up tomorrow, I’ve got “accomplishment” written all over my hands. But today’s agenda is as scrambled as my eggs were this morning (they were tasty, topped with everything bagel seasoning and melting white cheddar) and there’s just no fighting it. I feel like, as dad used to say, a “fart in a skillet”, which gets me laughing and sends some helpful endorphins through my central nervous system, though trying to visualize what a fart in a skillet looks like is an unhelpful distraction. Sigh. Some of you might say “switch to decaf” but I’m not a coffee drinker, so we’re just gonna go with this flow and see how it plays out.

Maybe it’s just me getting caught up in the larger context and energy of spring, where last autumn’s matted down and decaying leaves are already nourishing this year’s tender shoots of wild onion and pungent ramps on the meadow path. I swear I can see the new grass growing and hear this season’s weeds laughing at our planned attempts to yank them out Once and For All. The Russian red kale seeds in those packets on the hutch in the kitchen wait patiently to be scattered and pressed into the newly roughed-up rich soil of the raised beds and where are we going to put the sunflowers this year? Everything around me is in motion simultaneously—“linear” is decidedly NOT the rhythm of this season—so, everybody on the dance floor NOW! For just a moment, I miss the illusion of winter’s stillness.

But only for a moment, because I just can’t sit quietly with all this going on around me. One way or another, the reflection ideas will take shape, and I will become a kinder human being, and send Matt a quick text about that book he suggested, and pull the soggy canvas from the ribs of that sweat lodge and re-layer them a little more neatly than the wind did. Somewhere hidden in all this activity will be a moment to rest on the couch, holding Patrick’s hand and listening to his steady breathing as he naps, a kitten for each of us sleeping sprawled across our legs. And I’ll still be mentally adding tasks to an endlessly squirming to-do list because this is what a season of new life does to a soul.

Spring is only a week old, my friends. Yikes.