Reconnect to Disconnect

Wake up to a hurricane in my gut, don't want to open my eyes, but there's no chance to sleep in as my never ending worries demand attention. My mind races against itself as if the track were a Möbius strip; a never ending loop, balanced between what I should and shouldn't have done, and ending back where I started in the first place. So much to do, so much left unsaid. Internet bill due... damn, I should've said that to her instead... more bills... I forgot to get milk last night... Dishes are still there... Electric bill overdue... Need to shower for work later... My God... So much to do. So much left to say.

Ok... laying here treading water in this stormy sea of thoughts doesn't help anything. I will end up drowning. If it's in the past, it can't be changed. Or, if it hasn't happened yet, worrying doesn't help anything. I rub and open my weary eyes, slowly sit up as my bed pressures me to lay back down. No. If I don't get up now, I never will.

Before I can stand up, I am greeted by my son, who's been watching me from the crack in the door to see if I was awake yet.

"Can you make me pancakes?" Of course my buddy.

"Can you transform my Bumblebee? I forgot how to do it." Ok, one minute please. Followed seconds later with, "Can you help me do this puzzle? It's my favorite." and continuing, "I broke my Optimus Prime, can you please glue it?" Yes. "I saw Lola (our cat) outside chasing the birdies." Cool, did she catch one? "Not yet ... Why do kitties like to chase birdies?" Before I can answer, "Can you make me waffles?" I thought you wanted pancakes??

Every sweet, high-pitched word that leaves his mouth are said with the most pure intentions. Pure unfiltered thoughts and curiosity. I remember when all I wanted was for him to talk, but this morning the words become increasingly piercing to my ears, as if I developed tinnitus overnight. I snap. "Dude! Can you please give me 5 minutes of silence!?"

I immediately flood with regret. Add it to the already overwhelming weight of anxiety. He's only 4, and the word 'silence' is not in his vocabulary yet. I'm a piece of shit.

"I'm sorry, Iroh. I didn't mean to yell at you. Daddy didn't sleep very good, and sometimes daddies just really like when it's quiet for a little bit."

Visually sad eyes respond "ok."

I can't stand myself. He was only waiting patiently for me to wake up so he could talk to his dad. I'm the worst father ever. The best thing I can do next is give him a big hug, kiss on the forehead, and start making his pancakes. Or was it waffles?

Throughout the next 15 minutes of cooking breakfast, my mind cycles through everything I need to do today. Big and small, each one accompanied by its own level of anxiety. Overwhelmed is an understatement as I stare blankly at the bubbly pancake batter on the griddle. I hear from the next room, "Don't burn the pancakes, Dad!" He's too damn smart. Thank you for reminding me buddy. Without his reminder, this batch would have most assuredly been burned. It's the strangest feeling being unable to move from so much going on inside my head.

We sit at the table and eat our breakfast. His questions keep on coming, and I slap a smile on my face and answer to the best of my abilities, simultaneously reminding him to eat his food, as that's my break between the queries. After we're done, I add the plates and utensils to the ever growing stack of dishes, I direct him to the couch and put on one of his favorite shows, "Bluey." I actually enjoy this show, I could watch it without him, and actually have. But I can't watch with him this time. I tell him I need to go outside for a little bit but I will be back. He acknowledges while eyes glued to the screen.

I step outside barefoot. The morning sunlight greets me warmly through the old cottonwood trees standing proudly to my left. Limbs still bare, but I see leaves beginning to bud. The air is still chilly with a slight breeze from the southwest, but it's the sunlight that makes the hairs on my arms stand up. I don't regret being in a t-shirt and boxers. No neighbors around anyway. First order of business is a deep breath. A heavy sigh of relief at the serenity of my front yard. A deep inhale of the smell of spring within the clean mountain air, and an even deeper exhale as if I'm releasing every last worry into the atmosphere.

I love this place. Birds happily singing in the treetops, like they were mocking my cat that she couldn't climb up to get them. I bet she could if she wanted to. She greets me as well, rubs her sun-warmed fur firmly along my legs, and I reach down to stroke her long, peach-colored fur in return. The sounds of her purring, the singing of the birds, the light breeze gliding through the bushes and trees harmoniously making its own original song. As calming as if 'Claire de Lune' were playing.

It's only me here in this present moment. No thoughts intruding on this pleasant solitude. My gaze directed towards the immeasurably big snow-covered mountains straight ahead, but my awareness is more of a floodlight in this moment. My eyes towards the front, but my vision only limited to the farthest extent of my peripheral.

To my left: Budding rose bushes, 15 200-year-old Cottonwoods and Willows, starlings changing branches every few seconds and twittering in conversation with the others. Lola exploring, the sun demanding attention through the trees, and the small town waking up in the distance.

To my right: More trees budding, these ones being younger, and shading my son's swing set. The closest house 2 miles away, blue and standing out from the distant hills and dark green forest. Clouds beginning to take shape against the deep blue sky, as if the owners of that house wanted to match the morning horizon.

All this within my present awareness. All this while staring forward at the mountains, with a clothesline in the foreground, holding the clothes I forgot to bring inside last night, and all the rolling hills and distant trees in between.

I can see every color without moving my head or eyes. Hues of red within our clothes and stained in the rocks and dirt scattered throughout. Orange is my cat, and the shirt hanging that my parents got me from Hawai'i last year. Yellow is the sun. Green is the grass and weeds growing back from winter, as well as the buds on the trees signaling spring. Blue is the sky and house to the west. Indigo is the sky surrounding the sun, a lighter hue than the darker horizon to my right. And Violet is harder to find, but it's there. From my view, the mountains appear violet where the snow doesn't touch. White, black, and grey everywhere else.

This is my peace. This is my happy place: The present moment within nature. When things get too overwhelming, I go outside, whether under the sun, the overcast, or the stars, and I breathe in the quiet serenity of nature that is unbothered by our worldly concerns.

I hear the door open behind me; my son asking what I'm doing. I calmly reply "I'm just getting my quiet time, buddy. I like to listen to the birds and watch Lola. I like to sit here with my feet in the dirt and listen."

Confused, he asks, "why you doing that?"

With a gentle smile I say, "One day you'll learn."

And feeling renewed, we head back inside to sit and watch some Bluey together.