Last Friday I spent the whole day laying a walkway, with stuff I dug up in the garden last summer.
The lack of tension in my garden has been bothering me all year. Even though stuff was growing with unprecedented vigor, it was all the same green. There weren’t enough flowers blooming at any given moment to create the kind of zing I needed, to differentiate “garden” from “voracious weedlot.”
Beyond making a mental note to plant lavender borders next year, I figured I needed to scrounge up some cobblestones. The slate tiles I used for stepping stones were attractive, but tended to crumble when stepped on.
But I kept digging up chunks of broken concrete. And on Friday, I started putting them down like a jigsaw puzzle.
Once I got started I couldn’t stop. Cheesy aphorisms like, “If you start digging the path, the stones appear” swirled through my brain; lunch, the darkening sky, the gathering winds, were petty obstacles to manic inspiration.
This state of mind is called “flow.” It’s addictive, in the best possible way. It transcends muddy hands, aching back and inferior materials. Everything you need, you have.
That’s what I wish for you; for your space, your mind, your body. May you be in flow more often than not.