Present Over Perfect

their addiction to alcohol why they think they’re so thirsty.
The stillness feels sort of like walking on the ceiling—
utterly foreign. What makes sense to me: pushing. Lists.
Responsibility. Action, action, action. What’s changing my
life: silence. Rest. Letting myself be fragile. Asking for help.
This weekend at the lake, Friday and Saturday were
clear-skied and gorgeous, and we played outside absolutely
all day long, morning till night. Sunday, though, and
Monday were cloudy, storms moving through, showers on
and off, and that cloud cover fell over us like a soft blanket,
slowing us down, urging us toward naps and movies and
coloring books. Lake life has those invitations to rest and
slowness woven right into the fabric of our days—rain
showers that send us inside, nightfall that lays us down. But
so many of us, myself chief among them, have forsaken
those natural rhythms and stayed at full speed, through the
night, through the storms.
I think one reason I come alive so thoroughly at the lake
in a way I don’t at our home deep in the Midwestern
suburbs is because I can feel the presence of the natural
world here—in a lakeshore town, when it rains, everything
changes. When you want to eat, you go to the farmer’s
market, not the grocery store; and when the lightning
crackles across the sky, you run for cover, throwing extra
lines on the boats, securing awnings and umbrellas and deck
furniture. At home, deep in the suburbs, it would take
something along the lines of a true natural disaster to disrupt
our well-trod routines and rhythms. I like that life at the lake