In 2019, I was constantly in motion. Rising early to beat the call of “Mommy!”; gulping down hot coffee; speeding to school pickup; racing through bedtime stories only to crash into bed, exhausted.
My planner — bursting with appointments, birthdays, tasks and deadlines — was my compass. I scrawled my dreams in the margins.
I poured myself into motherhood and writing. Scrimped on sleep, self-care. I wanted to do it all and do it well. I couldn’t let anyone down. At this I did not succeed, yet I kept moving.
Somewhere in the middle of all this chasing, I lost my footing. I forgot why I was running. Did I really need to run?
Weary, I slowed my pace to walk.
One day, I found myself child-free in the wilderness. Into the woods I walked. Over the mountains. Into a clearing.
Violet and indigo mountains scraped the sky and my feet kissed the edge of a frozen lake. All was quiet, save for my heart’s heavy beating. The alpine air smelled brand new.
I looked down and my feet, my tired feet and nearly jumped. Tiny cracks etched in ice echoed modern art.
How had I missed this?
I wonder what else we miss by failing to shift our perspective. By forgetting to stand still.
Hiking boots rooted to the earth, I thought of poet Mary Oliver, who urged us to
“Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.”
This year, I want to notice the beauty lingering at my feet. Matchbox cars and Legos, but also holy play and happy chaos. Tiny toes and big feelings? The gift of good health and togetherness. Cookie crumbs as sweet memories. Spilled milk as Grace abundant.
I won’t forget that moment in the wilderness. Filling up. Seeing. Letting go.
In 2020, my intention is to stop and pay attention. To the ones I love. To the world around me. To small steps on the greater journey. To the beating of my heart.
Erin Strybis 
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