I live in possibility – Emily Dickinson

Cottage 2 - Birchtree Cottage

The sun shines on the shore across the river from my cottage. After yesterday’s gloom and drizzle, seeing the sunlight this morning is welcomed. As with every morning since I arrived at Neebish Island, green pine cones fall heavily upon the cottage roof, landing on the deck outside. In time a red squirrel will scamper upon the deck, carrying one by one, the sticky cones to a cache nearby. The cones are almost as large as the squirrel but that doesn’t seem to deter the small rodent. Eventually the deck will be empty leaving behind the resin clinging to the wood planks.

This is day five on Neebish Island. I had come here with plans to exercise, meditate and retreat into myself. Within the comfort of this tiny cottage, I would not be distracted by work, my animals, my spouse and all the other events that arise when I am home. How foolish I was to believe that a change in location would magically change my daily routine. It became apparent by Monday afternoon that I had little interest in the plans I had drawn up. I did walk and stretched out on my foam roller. The hand weights remain in the suitcase. Only the novel got read, the spiritual books remain closed and sit on the coffee table.

In their place, I watched the PBS series, The Roosevelts early in the morning while my internet connection was unimpeded. Having risen obscenely early today, I watched Part III before breakfast and the sunrise. This episode ended with the death of Theodore Roosevelt in 1919, a president that I had always found fascinating. I had read several books about him, so his story was familiar. But it wasn’t until this morning that I now saw a resemblance, physically and behaviorally, between Roosevelt and a man that I had once worked for and also greatly admired.

It is said that unresolved personal issues will re-emerge time and again until you bring them to a conclusion. That claim I support wholeheartedly as there has been many occasions during my life that in retrospect, I realize that I had experienced before. I believe that there are reasons for people and events to come into my life; that there are lessons to learn from them. So as the story of Theodore and Eleanor Roosevelt unfolded, I saw snippets of my life play out on the screen. Theodore’s depression and how he used activity and nature to keep it at bay and Eleanor’s physical and emotional awkwardness revealed through the photos of her always looking down and away from the camera triggered recognition within myself.

Far too often I compare myself to others and come up short: too tall, physically clumsy and unfit, moody, bookish, shy. I see other people who appear comfortable in their skin, love life and everyone in it and wonder what is wrong with me.  Why is it that I, possessing everything that one needs in life, be so unhappy? When is enough, enough?

As I watch the story about the Roosevelts, I realized that everyone has doubts, even those who publicly appear so confident. They just put on a better show than I do or make a decision not to let their insecurities define them. No one ever expected Theodore Roosevelt would become president, most of his immediate family never believed that he would be more than a sickly man, living with his animal collection and books. But TR was determined not to let physical limitations stop him. He made living large his life’s goal. Be it living as a rancher in North Dakota, delivering a speech after he was shot by a gunman, bringing a lethal dose of morphine with him on his journey through the Amazon so if he was not able to complete the trip, he would not become a burden to his travelling companions, Roosevelt made taking risks and embracing life a lifelong pursuit. His was a short life, dying by age 60, but it was full and fearless.

So I had to ask myself, was I living fearlessly? Is how I define my world consistent with how I live each day? For many years, I would have to say no. I gave away years of my life to making everyone else happy. I had placed so little value in my hopes and dreams that the best I could hope for was that I helped others achieve theirs. I thoroughly believed that my sacrifice helped the common good. What crap! I was living less than my potential, a gift given to me alone to use. Who was I to say that my dreams were less worthy than anyone else’s?

It could be said that putting me first is selfish and to some extent, that is true. But it is also wrong to not live up to my full potential; wrong for those who demand that I always put their needs first and wrong of me to think that I have nothing to offer the world. 

Now within reach of my 60^th birthday, I am fast approaching the final period of my life. There is so much I want to do, places I want to see that I have put off to serve others. There will come a time during this last phase of my life that I will be physically unable to achieve some of my dreams. I won’t know when that time will come any more than if I will see that 60^th birthday. All I have is today and it is up to me to make the most of it.