Foggy Morning

I had to chuckle to myself as I drove my husband to the train station early this morning. After writing yesterday’s blog entry on clarity, there I was, barely able to see the car in front of me, the fog was so dense. Things were, you might say, less than clear.

In fact, as I drove along Route 29 South, a highway that hugs the river, I couldn’t even tell the river was there. All I saw was thick fog, even more dense above the water than everywhere else.

That got me thinking. A gift of nearsightedness—be it physical, spiritual or induced by some outer force—is that it brings us back to the here and now.

Having a clear view can be delightful. But being long-sighted also means we're able to see all that is necessary to get from where we are to where we’re going.

Sometimes keeping our eyes on the few feet just before our face is what we need to do to focus on the task at hand.

Funny, but that’s kind of how I went through my day today. First, I did the laundry. Then, I had an appointment. Then I picked up vegetables from the organic farm where we have a share. Then I straightened the house. And on and on. During each task, I was focused on it and it only, almost as blind to what was next as the fog made me this morning.

It wasn’t a day for history books (or even a blog, for that matter). Just a day. A day where I put one foot in front of the other. Nothing more. Nothing less. As I reflect back this evening, I feel good. Peaceful. I got a lot done.

As seers, each on our own unique journey, sometimes we’re blessed to only be able to see what’s before us. Other times, we’re blessed to be able to see straight to the bottom—of an issue, one’s soul, or the river, whatever the case may be—and back.