Bamboo Shoots Appear
May 15–19, 2021; Amherst, MA, USA
Seasonal Memoir #3
It wasn’t so much a pitter patter that would signify rain, which I knew would be impossible with the jet blue skies, but rather an intermittent sprinkling of something on our indoor patio sunlight. Then it stopped, but was back again. What was it?
Seeds! A maple tree was raining its seeds onto our rental property. Though chances that even one of those seeds would root and survive in a suburban neighborhood were slim to none, it was nevertheless comforting that mother nature continued with her machinations, despite the doom and gloom (which is real!) of climate change.
It wasn’t the raining seeds that grabbed my attention this week, but instead the bugs. Temperatures reached into the 70s, and the mosquitos, deer flies, black flies, and other winged nuisances joined the deer and wood ticks in the party. Suddenly, they were everywhere. And while I lamented the loss of a bug-free walk in the neighborhood, the propensity of insecta in our daily lives is a very good thing for the ecosystem. It’s normal, just like the raining seeds. But insects are in a huge decline worldwide, and that should get our attention. It’s these little creatures that make our own existence even possible.
I continue to reflect on being “home”, settling in the town where I went to university, no less. The cultural adjustments necessary after eight years of expat pampering in the Middle East are not extreme, but they are nevertheless obvious: people will actually stop when you’re in the crosswalk; people protesting (factory farming, Israel, mutant babies (?), etc.) in the town center without much fuss; shops not-so-gently nudging you to add 20% to any purchase you make (for tips, or other causes-du-jour); twenty-somethings smoking weed on a walk on the regional bike path (really?!?); house parties that half the state are attending, and the other half can hear. But it’s all good. America the beautiful.
As I settle into new routines, trying to make the most of my mornings, when my brain is most active, and using the afternoons for deliberate rest, I’ve been reflecting on the concept of tempo giusto, the Italian way-of-life translated as “the right speed”. This philosophy is rooted in the belief that everything we do (eating, sleeping, working, walking, having sex, etc.) has an optimal speed, a pace where the activity has its most impact, effectiveness, or meaning. It makes a lot of sense, if you take the time to test it out. Eating a nice meal with friends is best done slowly. Triaging your emails should be done quickly (if at all).
You can test this concept out by peeling an orange (not one of those easy ones, but juicy oranges where the skin is pasted to the edible insides). Peel it quickly, and your hands are a mess. The orange gets mutilated. Peel it slowly, however, and you’re left with dry hands and a delectable orb of pure delight.
What in your life is out of balance, and needs to slow down, like the peeling of the orange? (It’s this distance between tempo giusto and the pace of the developed world that causes us significant stress and illness.) What needs to speed up, to create more space in our lives for the good life? What is happening at just the right speed? Questions worth pondering … if you have the time, of course!
