Good morning friends,
It’s Tuesday, June 16 and the fluidity of summer is rushing underneath me in every sense of the word. I’ve gone from Bozeman, to Missoula, to Salmon to Sun Valley, and today trickle my way down to the Fort Hall Reservation.
I’ve been inside of houses I’m saying goodbye to, houses I’m planting dreams in, I’ve had a fever for 3 days straight, had friends drop me cold medicine remedies and treats, packed up my river bags, met climate activists from all over the world, and now I head into the uncertainty of doing the work that I love on the river I love, with the people I love.
It’s times like these where I look at “The Art of Rest,” exhausted, and think “man, I’m grateful that my life is full of things I care about, even when I am dog-tired.”
Today that tiredness is tinged with an existential exhaustion around “ah, in this moment I’m feeling too tired to be present with all of these good things in the way that I want.”
I hear another voice reminding me, this is all iterative learning.
That it took a lot of time and puzzling to figure out what was worth my life-energy.
That it took a lot of effort to weed out the things in my life that didn’t bring me purpose, meaning, joy, or connection.
That I rode a high of all highs where things felt like they were falling into place.
That when the high wore off, that was normal, too, because everything changes.
That right now, I’m so grateful to finally love everything I’m working hard at but that I am also realizing my capacity to be fully present with everything on my plate isn’t possible all seasons of the year in the exact same way.
That some things need to be pruned gently so the energy can go back to the important places.
Some things need a full, garden-bed weeding because they actually do not belong there anymore. Even the plants we used to love there seasons before.
However, it’s a reminder that most things just need a little bit of water, some shade, and whatever my summer version of stillness is.
I’m remembering this morning that to rest well means to be flexible in our approach. To be fluid.
To attend to the life that is right in front of us.
That the wilder months need a wilder approach.
If you don’t already have one this week, here is your permission to rest.
Because this is my busy season, where I am off in the wilderness with the indigenous-led non-profit I work for—River Newe—I will be sending shorter, sweeter, smaller little permission slips to rest.
We’ll pick up more robustly in the fall with our regular format.
But until then, my question for you is this—
What is one thing you can put down so you can be more present this week?
What needs to be pruned intentionally so that the branches do not die from neglect?
What needs to be pruned so that other parts of the plant can get their full nutrients?
What needs to happen after you prune the pieces so that the plant knows it’s safe to keep growing?
Looking forward to hearing your summer tending might be for you. I’d love to hear it if you care to share.
Celebrating you in acknowledging it, even if you don’t have the tools to prune anything down yet.
My hope for us is that we can all rest on our backs a bit as we fluidly flow downstream.
With the water,
Dagny Rose
