Living In My Hands

As someone who has studied wide-awakeness for a long time, I need to be reminded that wide-awakeness is about living in our hands. It is about getting out of our heads and into the world, the body, the dirt. It is about connecting with each other. I did a better job of living in my hands as a child. Perhaps there is a lesson there.

Living in my hands means I plant, tend, and harvest. Living with my hands means I turning off the news and turning on something else – my creative juices, my passions that propel me forward, the energies that if left bridled remain quietly in the stable never winning a race. Living in my hands means connecting with the earth. Living in my hands mean serving others. Living with my hands means getting dirty. Living with my hands means practice, training, and breathing. Living with my hands means patience and observance and bounty. I see others live in their hands when they craft, crochet, knit, throw pottery. Living with our hands feel useful.

Living In My Hands Looks Like

When I think about living with my hands I think about my grandparent’s garden. My grandparents had several acres of family land on which the house where my father was raised stood. There were 400 tomato plants and rows of green beans, potatoes, zucchini, carrots, eggplant, green peppers, and corn spread out there for many years. I learned how to dig potatoes without stabbing them in the garden. I learned the difference between half runner and blue lake green beans in the garden. I learned about the sweet juiciness of silver queen corn in the garden. I learned when a tomato is perfectly ripe for picking in the garden.

Over the years, the garden was an important part of friendships and community. The garden sat on a street the bore my family name. My grandparents shared the vegetables with their church, neighborhood, and community food kitchens. They opened the garage door early every morning with boxes and boxes of produce ready to be bagged and delivered. They moved between sitting on the swing, working in the garden, and talking with neighbors as the hours of the days passed. On these special days, I learned family stories, all about vegetables, and neighborhood history. All of that seems like working with my hands.

The Challenge to Live In My Hands

It might seem easier to live in our heads than to live in our hands. To study and weigh. To read and reflect. To ponder and muse. That can feel like living on white fluffy clouds moving gently along. That is not the whole story. Living in our heads can also easily turn in to worry, fret, fear, and paralysis. When we are too much in our heads we know it. That is when spiraling happens. That is when we turn sound into noise, conflict into catastrophe, and simple into complex. When I am too much in my head I have forgotten to run, or cook, or practice yoga. Remembering my hands feels good. This time of year is a good time to get back to my hands. Though my grandparent’s garden has been replaced by an urban life, the lessons remain. The sheer joy of connection can happen around me everyday. I can live in my hands in ways that understand caring and tending and the mindfulness right now as I train for upcoming races, learn recipes, find yoga videos to practice at home. This is a time to live in my hands.

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