It’s so cold your fingers hurt. The streets immediately surrounding the buildings where my office is located were still grey. Late-rising sun filtered through the thick clouds.
The university precinct was peaceful. A few birds chirped. They sounded right—not the ebullient and energetic calling of birds a few weeks ago disoriented by a warm spell, but quieter and more delicate, maybe thoughtful or at least thought-provoking.
Peace is a much-used word. It can mean many things. Here in this place now it seems to mean letting go of the to-do lists and spreadsheets of information which I associate with the office. It means putting my feet on the floor and breathing deeply. I try to give my all my arguments with myself to God.
I am not on trial. The clock ticks softly and the birds chirp and the computer whirrs faintly. My purpose is to be. It seems too simple. It seems crazy. It seems useless. But remembering that means you do not have to guarantee your own being by meeting a list of expectations.
Sure there are things to do and people to see. Thank goodness for the delicate sing-song birdsong outside the window and the computer gently whirring. But my value is assured right here and now as I take a breath and take it all in and exhale again.
The cold air is very good.