Filling space becomes the new normal. Two very young girls are standing at the school bus stop with personal planners. "Okay, I'll move ballet back an hour, reschedule gymnastics, and cancel piano. You shift your violin lessons to Thursday and skip soccer practice. That gives us from 3:15 to 3:45 on Wednesday the sixteenth to play." (From New Yorker Magazine)

It is too easy to make this only about speed. Yes, we move too fast. Yes, our lives are hectic and chockablock. But this is not only about more stuff or crammed calendars. It is also about our spiritual and emotional space. Where we come face-to-face with the "addictive element" of being too full. I readily grumble about exhaustion. And yet...

...my world of obligations fills with the need to fix or impress others;

...my spirit--unnerved by life's uncertainties--becomes a magnet for (and is  weighed down by) fear or worry;

...my sense of self and identity attaches itself to pain or loss or unrealized expectations;

Meaning? This pattern takes care of something. It fills some need.

There is some kiss we want with our whole lives. Rumi

Here's what it doesn't say: And Mary figured it all out. And Mary wrote a book on the Seven Lessons from an Angel's Visit. And Mary filled her calendar and traveled all over Galilee doing seminars about successful living and work-life balance.

In her book Broken Open, Elizabeth Lesser talks about our need to "practice death"; the process of letting go of whatever enslaves us.  When we need to take a breath or two, in order to clear our minds of emotional storm clouds.

I no longer need to clutch...   

I no longer need to be a warrior doing battle, as if my identity is dependent upon only being strong.

I choose to quit trying to be perfect or always right or impressive or in a hurry or unflawed.

I choose to empty some of the tea.

If it is toxic to my spirit, I choose to say, "let it die."

I choose to learn the dance between letting go and gratitude.

What I am is enough. I can just be.

And it sounds so easy.

Like the businessman discovered, no one ever said it would be easy, only that it would be worth it.

Here is the power of making space. Within that space, we are able to see, and to receive. Even if that means receiving sadness or loss or grief or the death of expectations. You know: by now I expected to be _________ (fill in the blank).  And when we receive, our lives are fueled by gratitude.   

Yes I know. We want a list of "how to." But let us not make letting go another obligation. Let us begin simply.

I will stop, if only for a minute. I will take time to breathe. With each breath, I will empty a little from my cup. With each breath, I will say thank you, and not close all the windows of my heart.

It's been a full week. And I confess that my mind has been juggling worry. And I replay scenarios as if some kind of card game, choosing which ace to play, and the odds. Which is another way of saying, "I really needed today's story." I needed to hear, "Terry, your teacup is full. Make some space. Whatever you are clutching, 'let it die.'"

I started my week on Vashon Island, and today I am in Washington DC. I spent part of the day with a friend touring the Catoctin Creek Distilling Company in Purcellville, VA.  It is a perfect Sabbath Moment tour, learning the value of pausing to let spirits age. As I write this I look out on the monument that memorializes the lives lost in the attack on the Pentagon. And I think about gratitude dancing through open windows. Mid-week in Oklahoma, I spent one morning driving the back roads early, the sun rising, a molten globe resting on the edge of the world. Fog and morning mist still rising from the fields dotted with plump spools of hay. To the south a murmeration of birds, thousands playing, diving and dancing. From the speakers of my car, Patti Griffin singing, "You can go wherever you want to go."