I am spending part of the day today at the public library, working on the final paper for the class I am taking this semester. As I sat down at the table, I looked out the window and saw this squirrel scampering up the tree outside.
Squirrels, if you have ever really paid attention to them in a tree, are typically incredibly confident and surefooted, jumping from branch to branch with incredible assurance that they are going to land safely on their feet.
But this little guy, after working his way up the trunk of the tree, stepped out onto one of the branches, and just stopped, and dropped to his little furry tummy, and wrapped his legs around the branch and just lay there for a moment like he was holding on for dear life. He was breathing so hard I could see his lungs inflate and deflate through his fur. The look in his eyes said, “I made it, now I just need a minute to catch my breath because holy crap, I’m tired and that was rough.”
I sat and watched him for probably a full minute, just holding on for dear life, thinking that I had never seen a squirrel in a tree act like that and wondering if he might be sick. I took out my phone to take a photo, but by the time I got the camera app pulled up, he was already back on his feet. I caught this photo just before he was off again, scampering with that usual squirrel confidence, leaping with abandon from branch to branch, where he was soon joined by a friend, chasing and running, with moves so fast it was hard to imagine how they stayed on their feet.
For just a moment there, I felt a kinship with the squirrel. I identified with him as he lay there, trying to catch his breath, and just taking a moment to recover just a bit from the strenuous task he had just endured, and preparing himself for all that would come next.
Sometimes I think I, and probably all of us, live like that squirrel most of our days. Running from one thing to the next, following a hard climb up a tree by an immediate leaping from branch to branch at high speeds, with abandon, without considering whether we might miss one in our haste, and with no regard to the scenery we are missing as our eyes are so focused on what is directly in front of us, and the place where our feet need next to land. Perhaps we should all take a bit of a lesson from this little guy.
To understand that is okay, and even healthy from time to time, to stop and lie down, to catch our breath, and to just be.
To honor the feelings of “I made it, now I just need a minute to catch my breath because holy crap, I’m tired and that was rough.”
To take a minute to feel the wind in our hair, and the sun on our skin, and to appreciate where we have been, the journey we have been on, and to rest a minute before we leap back into the race to the next thing.
