My annual rut has arrived.
I usually stumble into one at some point during the year, but “stumbling” seems to imply that there’s a sort of uneven ground that your feet happen upon, followed by some more shuffling as the soil gives way to rockiness, which gives way to a gully.
This year’s rut feels like I stubbed my toe on a concrete parking bumper, then fell face-first into the Grand Canyon. No warning, no gravel shifting underneath — nothing. Just the impact, then the fall.
Ah, ruts. If I’ve mentioned one in the last 11 months, please scratch it from the record. It was merely a blip, with nothing rutty about it.
One of the [many] things that’s fueling this particular rut is the realization that time passes too quickly. Earth-shattering, right?
This morning I was washing a few dishes and wondering if there’s a way to make time slow down. Not literally, because that’s too much science for me (not to mention impossible). I’ve always wondered whether making a point of writing specific things down in a daily journal would help.
Being the bright bulb that I am, I then realized I could simply reflect back on the last two-ish years of daily writings to see if this proved to be true. I did a bit of rewind magic and, interestingly, wondered if I’d been high/drunk/coherent/awake/alive when I wrote most of them — because I hardly remember penning the majority, with the exception of a few of my favorites, and a few of the more recent ones. So no…it doesn’t help. Not for me, anyway.
Oh, ruts. Is there no way around you? Must I traverse through your length-to-be-determined ditch the way one rides out a storm?
Apparently. But when it comes to ruts, they’re everywhere — we just happen to fall into the ones we’re most vulnerable to. What constitutes a rut for us may not constitute a rut for someone else. The landscape is one, massive, pockmarked minefield rife with every item on our list of things that bring us down.
Here a rut, there a rut, everywhere a rut-rut. The good thing about them is that they do, in fact, end. By virtue of having fallen into one, there will inevitably be a light at the end of the tunnel…an increase in elevation that brings you back up to level ground. For every low, there is a high. For every evening, there is dawn. Every season has an end, and every wound is sure to mend.
Tonight, despite the sudden onset of my rut, I am thankful for realizing that the passage of time is something that cannot be slowed. Even if it results in remembering just once to pause and take in every ounce of a moment, a silver lining is found. Regardless of our ruts — their duration, intensity and timing — here’s to remembering that this too shall pass.
And here’s to you passing through your rut (and knowing that all the rest of us enjoy the same imperfections!)…Happy Holidays. Write on.
Thank you, David. Happy Holidays to you, too!