Connections
I expect my new running shoes to arrive today. Time to toss the beat up but faithful pair. Too many miles, too many years according to the running gurus, of which I am not. They say replace regularly. I take “regularly” as a very loose suggestion. But I am excited for the new pair. New colors. New and perfectly clean. No holes or worn places or scuffs. And although these new kicks are pretty utilitarian, in general, I do love new stuff, love the idea of "new." I spent a lot of time and energy researching this pair . . . the best fit, the best model for my use, what all the
in-the-know reviewers are saying. And so today is the culmination of the great shoe-search caper! Eureka!
But you know, I’ve been running and walking and pounding trail and pavement since I was a teenager; and I’m hard pressed to remember even one pair of running shoes in my illustrious running shoe history, beyond the pair I’ll toss in the trash today. And that’s a lot of shoes. That’s the thing about acquiring things. I can build a pretty high pile, but I have a real connection with very few items. This may be a leap . . . a bit of an overstatement. After all, it’s just running shoes, it’s nothing profound. But it’s a valuable exercise to ponder complexity versus simplicity.
The dictionary defines “connection” as a relationship in which a person, thing, or idea is linked or associated with something else. In a way, I do have a connection with material things; it’s just not always a healthy connection. I find that the more clutter I have on the outside, the more clutter I feel on the inside. And the more inner clutter, the more outward complexity and confusion. How about you? You know those days when you feel you’re forgetting something; or you just can’t seem to keep up with the flood of emails and texts; or you just can’t get to the grocery store? Well on those days, you can walk by a “to purge” pile and it’s just the straw that breaks the camel’s back. You begin to feel all the pressing, and hear the lying whispers of “failure.”
All the quaint hand-painted wall art signs say “Simplify.” “Purge.” Only keep what “sparks joy.” “Declutter.” “If you haven’t used it in a year, toss it!” Okay but the purge pile in my garage is so high that it feels like a mountain on my shoulders, and a project I don’t have time for. I want to simplify. Really, I do. But I just don’t want to put in the time. And I wonder about the time I lost in the process of accumulating stuff.
On the other hand, if I take some time to explore connections that bring me peace and contentment, well that’s another story altogether. I noticed this the other morning early . . . the way I feel so grounded by the old oak planks under my feet; the comfort I feel when my fingertips slide along the smooth wood railing at the top of our stairs; the feel of my coffee mug in the shape of my palms; the look of children’s story books and the smiling memories they evoke. You see, I could go on and on with these connections. They are memories. They are attachments. And I wonder about the time I could gain in the process of accumulating gratitude.
After all, I won’t get back that conversation with my soon-to-fly son, the one I missed because I thought there was something else more urgent. I won’t be able to retrace the shapes and colors of tonight’s brilliant sunset, because it’s a one-night-only deal. I won’t remember the joke the kids laughed so hard at after dinner, because I was too quick to leave the table. My responses and reactions to the truest most basic connections . . . the people I love, the place I call home . . . well these responses are telling, and sometimes, they’re quite alarming.
The other day I read this quote: “Leave much to show for the time you spend here.” And I have to get very quiet . . . very still, and feel the weight of this thought. The value of what I leave really comes down to the value of the connections I make. In no way is this minimizing the temporary “happy” that comes to the door in a box of running shoes. This too can be a gratitude moment. It’s just that I want to elevate the eternal “happy” that comes to the door in the shape of an old friend.
So I’ll slip on my new shoes and go for a walk. And while I’m walking, maybe I’ll make a mental checklist of my strongest connections . . . an honest list. It could be hard. It’s likely that some connections need to be scratched off the list altogether. It might be that others have fallen untended to the bottom of the list, and require some nurturing. It could be that there are new connections, birthing like spring buds; and I must make some uncluttered space for them to blossom. This rewiring is a hard and holy work. God created us for the most meaningful and fulfilling connections. Examining them from time to time means I’ll become painfully aware that I need some course correction, that I’ve fallen off the path. But that’s okay. I have good shoes.
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