Boundaries of Life

During a recent trip to Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado, a sign titled "Boundaries of Life" caught my eye. 

What are the boundaries of life? What boundaries do we set for ourselves and those around us? Do we allow others to encroach on what we need for a rich life? Sometimes relinquishing our needs for others is necessary and the right thing to do, but often we have developed the habit of putting ourselves last, and not speaking out for what we need. We live above the treeline, in the barren places, when we could live in the warmer and gentler forests, nourished by the love of those around us. Our lives needn't be windswept and lonely. By sharing and being assertive about our needs and desires, we garner the bounty of shared visions and goals. We play not just a supportive role, but create a partnership of survival and growth.

Living above the treeline is not always our choice. Circumstances may force us to struggle.  Our version of snowdrifts, wind, avalanches and exposure can be illness, job loss or relationship problems. In the mountains, nature forces trees surviving at the highest altitude into twisted shapes called krummholz. We've seen these in the Sandia Mountains just east of Albuquerque where the tree grows with the prevailing winds. On the Kenai Peninsula in Alaska, krummholz grows just below the treeline along the ground. The twisted horizontal growth occurs when the normally upright tree tip or leader is blasted by wind-driven ice crystals during the winter. This winterkill of the leader prunes the top of the tree and promotes fuller growth of lower branches.

When we are buffeted by challenging circumstances, we tend to hunker down, lying in the swales and depressions of our daily lives.  But we can still survive.  The winter storms will prune us and shape us, but fuller growth, even though in a different shape than when we began, will be our reward.

Something of Value

Since the burglary, I've spent hours searching. First I had to search the house to identify what had been stolen. Then I set off on a seemingly endless soul-searching trek. My advice to myself: When life sends you a lesson, make a lesson plan. It looked like my lesson referred to materialism, and I beat myself up about my attachment to things. I tried to convince myself that I would be a better person if I didn't replace the stolen items. As I grieved over my trinkets and treasures I didn't feel better or wiser; I felt vulnerable, lost, disillusioned, and spiritually impoverished.

When the police detective asked about the extent of our loss, I quoted the prices of the laptop and MP3 player, but I told him that my jewelry wasn't worth much beyond sentimental value.

In the days following the police report, I had to search my memory to come up with an accurate inventory for our insurance claim. Some of the memory jolts stung like a physical blow -- my grandmother's Bavarian crystal necklace, my dad's high school class ring, the Turkish puzzle ring Fred gave me 43 years ago. I had carried these bits and pieces with me all my life and around the world. The hole in my spirit deepened with each addition to the list.

Before my inventory was complete, our insurance claims adjuster asked me for an approximate figure for the jewelry. I couldn't answer. "Would it be less than $2500?" he asked. I felt relieved to reply in all honesty, "No doubt."

Being the person that I am, I entered my inventory in an Excel worksheet. REPLACEMENT VALUE: GRAND TOTAL =SUM(E1:E91). I compressed my lips between my teeth and pushed ENTER. The dollar amount confirmed my growing suspicion: my jewelry had been worthy after all! In a font as clear as Arial Bold my lesson spelled out its meaning. To validate it, I went to my Native American Medicine Deck, shuffled, and drew one card:

"The key word is respect. Learn to assert, without ego, what you are. Respect follows. You must first respect yourself. Walk tall and be proud of the accomplishments you have made."

I take this to heart. My loved ones have told me often enough that I undervalue my talents and accomplishments, just as I had undervalued my jewelry collection. At the end of this search that began with a burglary, I've found a reminder that I am indeed something of value. Now I'm gathering courage to strut my stuff. Maybe I'll check out that interesting listing in New Mexico Kids! Magazine and learn how to beat my own drum -- or start gathering music for the lullaby CD I've dreamed of making. I want to reach out beyond my boundaries, just to see what's there.