Mind the Periphery

"I miss your peripheral presence." - Amy H. in my Pilates class (May 27, 2010).

Day 115. I love serendipitous comments that are so clever they should be recorded in font size 42.

There are four regular attendees in my Pilates class. We've known each other for almost three years. Sharin, our teacher, recently added two new reformers (those monstrous contraptions that look part torture implement and part sex apparatus), which necessitated rearranging the previous formation of machines. Jane, my next-reformer-over classmate, now exercises perpendicular to me rather than by my side. During our first class together after the change, we laughingly observed that we kept botching Sharin's cues. I said to Jane, "It worked better for me when we were parallel," and she replied, "I know; this is messing me up!" Amy, on the reformer to my left, giggled and summarized the sentiment as, "I miss your peripheral presence."

It is obvious that I love words when they are creatively strung together. I was delighted by Amy's comment, saying, "That's going in my blog," and here it is. Since Amy uttered that brilliant and accurate statement, I have had many thoughts about it. Important people flank the periphery of my life, and I would, indeed, miss their presence. Like Jane at my side, however, it is easy to take peripheral persons for granted until their absence trips me up. Immediately, I vowed to be more mindful of my peripheral persons.

When I walked into my bank today, I took special notice of the four or five people who always smile, greet me, and ask how I'm doing. Same thing for several people who share the hall of my office building. Again at the grocery store on the corner, and the liquor store I bolt into at the last minute for the bottle of wine I usually take as a hostess gift. I spoke to all the bike shop boys when I stopped to buy tubes for Tennessee. Mindfulness changed these ordinary interactions. I appreciated the peripheral presence of these individuals in my life, and noticed that, when I paid attention, they gave little contributions to my sense of orderliness and well-being. This is what it feels like to be Home.

Maybe everyone doesn't create their own little Mayberry as they conduct their day-to-day existence, though I suspect a lot of us do. We human beings seem to crave familiarity and habit to a large degree. It soothes us in a world that spins ever faster. With seven billion people on the planet, I think it is reassuring to cross paths with a predictable and casual few. Their presence may barely register upon our consciousness, but their absence is acutely felt. I'm going to continue directing more mindfulness to the relationships on my periphery. I have a sneaking suspicion that they are important members of the One.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc