Downshifting During the 2020 Pandemic
I’ve been a runner most of my life. Not a fast one, but fairly disciplined in frequency. Although I love to vary my route, there is a 5K loop that has gotten more mileage out of me than any other. I hop on a trail a block from my home and wind into a prairie and meadow, over a creek and through a magical forest of pines. But there is one part of this journey that is my least favorite. For a few blocks the trail runs parallel to a county road and near a freeway with plenty of traffic and road noise. It lands right in the middle of my otherwise scenic adventure and seems to disrupt the peace and solitude of the moment. Although that particular stretch crosses the creek, I typically run right past, not giving the water but a glance as I seek to return to the serenity that lies beyond the portion of busy, exposed roadways.
Everyone has felt and dealt with the challenges of 2020. The instant shifts in how we do life, the unknowns, the fear, and the impact of social isolation has been debilitating. As I have processed these major disruptions, I have felt inclined to slow down my life, including my runs. I removed my running watch and stopped monitoring my pace. If I saw something beautiful I slowed to a walk and sometimes even stopped: a deer, the amazing colors on the big maple tree, the sound of an owl, the flight of an eagle, the breathtaking coral colors of a sunset. I had never allowed myself to defeat the pressure of a strong pace until this year.
In these slowing downs, one day I finally stopped on a run to look over the concrete, waste high wall on the busy road, where the creek runs below. And what I would ordinarily jog by with a quick glance had changed. A mass of branches and leaves had created a small dam across the creek, a beautiful two-foot drop in water level and the loveliest sound of a small waterfall. I paused and absorbed the marvel. That next month I began to look forward to the spot in the route that I had once dreaded. I would peer over the concrete, listening to the sound of falling water and trying to watch the water follow its path through the dam and continue on its winding journey.
So much had changed in 2020: a nation facing unknowns, anger from systemic injustice, polarization of politics, and on the home front: shifts in my kids’ education, less activity in life, struggling mental health, sending our first born off to college in a pandemic, gaining a master’s degree, and starting a new job. And now even the creek had changed- but it seemed a gift sent to me, a new pleasure, one thing that couldn’t be stifled by this virus or the unrest in our country.
As I watched the water flow I thought about its persistence to get where it wanted to go. The branches and other debris that made the dam, seemed to collaborate in an effort to thwart the flow. But the water would not be stopped. It could be slowed down- indeed it was made to struggle until it found a new path, almost skipping and leaping past the detours until it was free to flow as it had before. And then came winter with its attempts to add more barriers yet. The small dam began to build up ice on the branches determined to stall the water still, but all it did was add beauty in the form of abstract icicles. The water still found a way, sometimes appearing to trip over or tumble under the ice and dam but always continuing to endure downstream.
“It reminded me of the fight of the human spirit. The overcomers. Those sometimes unrecognized souls that keep on keeping on.”
It reminded me of the fight of the human spirit. The overcomers. Those sometimes unrecognized souls that keep on keeping on. The ones who tell you their story; the kind of story that encourages you and gives you inspiration to continue climbing the mountain you are on.
And it reminded me of the faithfulness of God. It cannot be stopped or even contained. It hits blockades and finds a way through because that is the only way it can be true to itself. There is no other way.
All the while, with my introspection fixated on this unstoppable force of nature, the busy road is still behind me. The noise of the cars is constantly vying for my attention and yet the fighting human spirit and the undeniable faithfulness of God is keeping me from the distraction, the noise, the ugliness of the world -allowing me to find hope and believe that all that comes at us cannot stop the beauty that is constant around us; the strength of the human spirit and the faithfulness of its Creator. In awareness of this and abiding in it, we find true joy and pleasure and nothing can strip that away.
Bekah Backman
Director of Program, TDP