Please forgive me if it seems as though I’m only half paying attention. You’re right.
Make no mistake, the half that is here, listening, is as engaged as it can be, it’s just that the other half is dozing in a hammock somewhere, maybe by a beach under a palm tree or maybe leaning against a boulder at the top of a windswept mountain or maybe against a vanilla-scented tree trunk near a western river.
Please forgive me if it takes me a week or longer to answer your call or your email. Truth be told, I’m not even checking to see who’s rung or written.
Understand that it’s not because I don’t care about what you have to say or that I’m not interested in what you are doing, it’s just that I am, these days, liable to be diverted and entwined by what is right in front of me: book, child, conversation, meal, thought, view.
Please forgive me if the daily routine is off, if the things that need doing are left undone.
In my “real life” I am a creature of habit and ritual and repetition and control. I have, much to many people’s frequent chagrin no doubt, a difficult time relaxing the reins. I am an all or nothing kind of girl. Apparently, the pendulum has swung. I am not unaware of the dishes stacking up in the sink and laundry left untended to. There is a part of me that savors the feeling of letting it go, not unlike that Sunday morning sleeping in feeling, knowing you should get up, but staying in bed just the same.
Please forgive me if my life seems devoid of depth or creativity or purpose. On the surface, which is where I spend most of my time, I sleep, I eat, I swim, I read, I laugh with my friends, I shepherd my children.
Know that my time as shepherd is as sacred to me as anything on earth, and I am more at peace skimming along on the surface of this life right now than I have been in a long time.