THANKS FOR ALL MANNER OF THINGS
A Widow Bit – Nov. 21, 2010
By Mary Koch

            Every once in a while, I experience random moments of utter well-being. It’s kind of scary.

            Scary because it resembles the total peace that I’ve witnessed in some people approaching death. I’m not there yet, I hope. And well-being is contrary to my nature. I require a certain level of anxiety to function. Anxiety and stress are great motivators: Get this done, or else.

            We who are anxiety-motivated are especially suited to the publishing business. If we had all the time in the world to write a story, it would never get written. Consequently we have a love/hate relationship with deadlines. Stomachs churning, teeth grinding, we attack our assignment, aware of every passing minute that brings us closer to the dreaded deadline. More often than not, we beat it. Any relief is short-lived; there’s always another deadline, both in publishing and in life.

            Which is why these recent episodes of peaceful well-being have felt so extraordinary. They arrive unannounced, for no apparent reason, lingering only until the next cloud of anxiety – or deadline – floats across my horizon. The most recent occurred as I was driving down Ash Street for a stop at the post office on my way out of town. I’d been dithering for days, preparing for an extended Thanksgiving celebration that involves visiting friends in various parts of the state. What route to take? What will the passes be like? Which vehicle to drive? Studded tires or not?

            I finally had the car packed, dog on board, house prepared for a ten-day winter vacancy, only one hour behind schedule, when suddenly I was immersed in well-being. It’s larger than simply feeling good, or happy. It’s when every cell of your body is alive and in harmony with every part of the living universe around you. I used to think such experiences could come only when you’re seeing the world from a mountain top, or watching an extraordinary sunset, or observing some other miracle of creation. But there I was on an ordinary street, doing ordinary things, getting just a glimpse of what heaven on earth might feel like.

            “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well,” said the medieval mystic, Julian of Norwich. She too was a writer – an extraordinary writer – but clearly not troubled by deadlines. That’s not to say she had an easy life – not at all. She struggled through a serious illness, and her visionary experiences were most certainly taxing. Yet the focus of her writing was her gratitude for the goodness of God. That is the basis for this sense of well-being: gratitude. Or thanksgiving, if you will.

            I’m staying with friends in a rural area of western Washington, watching the winter’s first snow fall on a forest of moss-covered trees. I hear morning sounds coming from other parts of the house. Footsteps down the hall. A door closes. Dogs bark, then are quiet. Voices murmur. And all manner of things shall be well.