Sun warming our dome home, I snuggle deeper into the downy softness. Roll over. Fight to free my arms and give Baylor a squeeze. He groans. Peeks an eye open, ready for event he tiniest sign that it’s time to get up and have breakfast. Barely stops himself from barreling through the zipped door upon my, Good morning Bay.
Breakfast poured, I reach back into the tent for the yoga mat. Twist, bend and stretch to release a back stiff from sleeping straight on the ground. The valve on the camp mat having recently broke, I’m quickly learning just how much comfort those inches of air really provide.
Leaning down, reaching heels to the ground, I sigh happily in downward dog. Laugh as Baylor sticks his head against mine. I’m not sure if he’s trying to be a part of the yoga session or simply distract me from it. Either way it makes me laugh.
Warm and limbered, I wander over to Rufio. Undertake a daylight assessment. Our camp spot isn’t extremely remote, but there was a bit of unexpected excitement to arrive at it last night.
Having worked later than planned, we came to the end of the dirt road in full darkness. Found a promising offshoot. A narrow, bumpy tunnel through the forest leading to an open space by the river. Having examined the path by the glow of the headlamp, I jumped back on Rufio. Let’s do it. It’ll be a way better camp spot. You walk it, I’ll ride it, I told Baylor. He grinned, If you say so.
Lights aglow, I crept into the woods. Rolled down the first steep bank and up the other side uneventfully. Weaved and bumped along the rolling path without fanfare. Until. Well until that all changed. Until I found myself on the ground. Rufio tipped plumb over, sidecar waving high in the air above me.
Between a right hand turn, a lighter than normal dog-absent sidecar and a grassy speed bump perfectly and unexpectedly positioned on the far right of the path, the moto-sidecar tipped over for the first time ever.
Looking up I giggled uncontrollably as Baylor stood panting in my face. Pulled my wedged left leg free. Man, now that’s a time we should’ve had a camera rolling. Having successfully up-righted Rufio I looked over at Baylor, dude, I’m a beast. He just shook his head, ran down the path to our camp spot; anxious for the tent home to be set up.
Now in the daylight, I look it over. Make sure no damage was done in the late night excitement. But all is well. If there was ever a best case scenario for tipping over, this is certainly it.
Sun glowing warm high in the sky, we wander through the woods. Down to the water. Run along the shore. Dip toes in the chilly, tannic waters. Walk back and forth. Forth and back. Again and again. Amass a sizable mound of downed firewood in anticipation of a cool night ahead.
Fire started, I warm water for tea. Give Baylor dinner and tuck him into the tent with a cookie as darkness overtakes us.
Lying next to the fire, I reach for the headlamp, grab my book. Settle in for a backwoods bookworm’s ideal night – reading under the stars next to a fire. Flipping to my marked page I alternate reading with throwing sticks on the flames.
Lie next to the final dying embers and close the finished book. Ponder what it means to live a good life, what it feels like to fully embrace enough. I’m not sure where the line lies between striving to always be better, to make a bigger difference and the necessity to fully appreciate the moment, to welcome that what you’ve accomplished in a given day is enough. That who you are right now, imperfections and all, is enough.
But rereading these final thoughts from Wayne Muller, I can’t help but feel the warm glow of hopeful contentment; that all the little things matter, that each day we’re given a chance to start fresh.
Being present with ourselves, making choices from our own quiet wisdom, finding sanctuary deep within us, gives birth to a beginners life, toward an unknowable destiny, on a path created by our every moment walking it. All we do is set the course for our heart’s desire by the star of our own choosing, certain we will change course a thousand times before ever reaching our distant shore, the dream of our soul.
A life of enough is born in every moment – in the way we listen, the way we respond to the world, the way we see what is and the truth of who we are. Every singly choice, every single moment, every change of course can bring us closer to a life of peace, contentment, authenticity, and easy sufficiency, a life of being, having and doing enough.
The shape of our days becomes the shape of our lives.
240 days down. Many to come.
