Learning the art of saying no

Look how much beauty you’ve missed. Have you really, truly seen how much beauty is right in front of you? How good you have it? The gifts of a normal, simple day?

I hadn’t. I’d missed it. Day after day after day. I wrote about that in my last post. I wrote about how a three-month cancer scare had brought to light just how very much of the goodness I’d kept in the dark. Busy. I was busy, you see.

Like you, maybe.

Busy working. Busy taking my daughter to swimming lessons, playdates, birthday parties. Busy on my phone, messaging with friends—hers, through their moms, and mine. Busy doing laundry, making grocery lists, tidying up. Busy wringing every productive second out of a day until at the end when my daughter was finally in bed, I’d stop. Collapse, really.

I’d had a very strong wake-up call two winters ago. When I had become dependent on anti-anxiety medication and sleeping pills. Developed insomnia. And depressive thinking. I wrote about all of that in this post. It got wild in my mind. Nothing helped. Except surrendering all medications. And slowing down my life.

Still…I stayed busy.

Sure, I did less. I did. I acknowledge that.

But doing less isn’t the same as appreciating more.

It isn’t the same as walking out the door on a drizzly Tuesday at eight in the morning and inhaling the scent of the rain on the gardens. It isn’t the same as turning your face up the sky to feel the tender drops on your skin. It isn’t at all like witnessing a worm burrowing in the dirt and being moved by its fullness of life.

It isn’t the same at all.

After my cancer scare I started to see that. Because I asked myself what my cancer scare might have been trying to teach me. And my answer was:

Look how much beauty you’ve missed. Have you really, truly seen how much beauty is right in front of you? How good you have it? The gifts of a normal, simple day?

It hit me profoundly, that lesson. The impact continues to resonate. An infinity pool of radiant circles all moving out across the surface of the water.

I am deeply moved to do less. So I can appreciate more. So I can be present with my life. So I can hear my own thoughts. And those of God.

I’ve been saying no more. Finding artful, considerate, heartfelt ways to pause my life.

Recently I sent two similar messages to two women—wonderful women; creative, powerful, funny, smart, women—who had asked if I wanted to meet up sometime soonish. One on one. To catch up. To get to know one another more deeply. At first I had said ‘yes’. I’d defaulted to the soul-dampening social conditioning that tells us it’s better to disappoint ourselves than let down someone else.

So I had said ‘yes’ even though in my heart—no, my gut—I had wanted to say ‘no.’

Weeks went by. I canceled on one woman, stating work as my reason. And didn’t follow up with the other. I wasn’t in integrity. And my initial response of a ‘yes’ was ringing in my head. You said you would, that yes said. You said.

So finally I decided to…well, grow up, frankly.

I decided to be honest.

I sat down and composed two messages.

The first one said:

“I’ve been thinking of you. My life is feeling really full right now. I’ve been dialing back my social calendar. I’m craving more alone time to be with my thoughts. I hope to catch you sometime at the school or the next birthday party.”

She was wonderful. She responded with, “I’d rather know you’re taking care of yourself than trying to meet for coffee.”

The second message I wrote said:

“I’ve been thinking of you and your fam. We always wave when we drive by your house. I know we had talked about getting together. I’ve been really craving more time alone right now. And unscheduled time in my calendar. Open spaces! So that’s what I’m focusing on right now. I’m sure you can relate? Either way, I wanted to reach out let you know where I’m at. Let you know I’m thinking of you. And send you love.”

You know what’s weird?

I genuinely, really like both of these women. I feel flattered and grateful that they want to be my friend. I feel honored.

But even more than that, I feel compelled to pause my life. Drink in the beauty around me. Notice the way the raindrops tap on the leaves. Watch the chickadees who are building a nest in the birdhouse my daughter built with her grandpa. Walk slowly home with her, holding her hand.

I want to notice the beauty I’ve missed. See the gifts of a normal, simple day.

And feel my peace expand.

[This is my neighbourhood. And I have been missing it.}