“I love a broad margin to my life”, wrote Thoreau in Walden. (I read the book once, sedately, over eighteen months because each paragraph lulled me to sleep.) This week, I tripped over his declaration again, not while re-reading Walden, but in Wherever You Go There You Are by Jon Kabat-Zinn.
That line from Thoreau, and its implication, illuminates what my existence was for eight years: marginless. And only recently, ten months after leaving medicine, have I felt a margin return to my days, restoring what it means to feel alive, again.
What is a margin? Is it just work-life balance?
Thoreau’s margin was an active intention to reserve time for non-doing and enjoyment, the opposite of striving and to-do listing. In short, being. He thought peace and happiness might just reside outside achievement, social comparison, and busyness, and perhaps inside simple, day-to-day existence. To test the hypothesis, he shacked up by Walden pond and lived self-sufficiently, from 1845 to 1847.
Here’s a portion of his report back:
“Sometimes, in a summer morning, having taken my accustomed bath, I sat in my sunny doorway from sunrise till noon, rapt in revery, amidst the pines and hickories and sumachs, in undisturbed solitude and stillness, while the birds sang around or flitted noiseless through the house, until by the sun falling in at my west window, or the noise of some traveller’s wagon on the distant highway, I was reminded of the lapse of time. I grew in those seasons like the corn in the night, and they were far better than any work of the hands would have been. They were not subtracted from my life, but so much over and above my usual allowance… The day advanced as if to light some work of mine; it was morning, and lo, now it is evening, and nothing memorable is accomplished. Instead of singing, like the birds, I silently smiled at my incessant good fortune.”
Not sold on margin’s importance? Take Daniel Duane’s modern assessment from Caught Inside (1997), after a year of surfing off Santa Cruz:
“The point being, I now know for certain, not at all the thrill of risk or the pride of achievement, but rather the dailiness of well-spent time, the accumulation of moments that will never translate into anything but a private sense of well-being.”
A private sense of well-being is what I missed most in medicine; knowing that I was in my spot, doing what I’m supposed to be doing, and capable of being myself, were the absent life textures I sorely lacked.
I longed not for more time on my mountain bike, vacations, or getting a nicer car. I just missed the ability to be. I knew it was gone, knew the coffee didn’t taste as good, and knew the sunsets didn’t hit like they used to. I searched for years, trying to figure out what I did, or was doing, wrong. Maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough. Wasn’t being “present” enough. Wasn’t meditating enough. Wasn’t grateful enough. Wasn’t getting home from work early enough. So, I meditated more, got home earlier, kept a gratitude list, and tried to be “present”.
To no avail, whatever I was missing wasn’t found in doing more.
This morning, on our front porch drenched in dew, I lay on my back stretching, when I looked through the sky, noticing the moon perched directly over my eyes (and me). I don’t know why, but this awareness was joyful. Nothing spiritual about it. Nothing woo woo. No striving to be present. No attempt at labeling its meaning. The moon was just there. And so was I.
I suspect, due to having a margin (wouldn’t say a broad margin), the experience on my porch was joinable. For years, as I was too busy surviving inside of an inauthentic existence, these moments slipped past. No margin was there to catch them, to illuminate them.
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When I understood what I cared about, it made it easier to say no and easier to invest in things I wanted. I said no to medicine and yes to things I do now. That choice in itself took years and will require consistent attention, but the regenerative energy from that practice, from living in authenticity, has buoyed my life. And created a margin. Work-life balance, making time on the weekend for hobbies, and gratitude lists never did that.
In last week’s newsletter, I detailed a recent epiphany:
I really only care about getting better at writing and furniture.
Since, I’ve worked to invest in these pursuits and neglect the rest (videos, social media, emails). I’ll let you know how it works out, but the initial shift has been nice. Afs a daily path, it feels more sustainable. I don’t feel as lost in doing all the time.
Somehow, the endeavor of being ourselves creates a margin where regular ol’ normalcy becomes enjoyable again. Where the nighttime walk walks you. Where coffee is coffee enough without cream and sugar. Where the sanding of furniture rewards more than the likes on its Instagram post.
Then, it’s up to us to preserve that margin, like Thoreau did, but in our own way. And why wouldn’t we fight, for that? It’s the most sacred thing we got.
(Photo Caption: From this week’s 32 Truths video, where I discuss the importance of commitment and unexpected reinforcement from the universe (God). There in the woods, with the help of my wife, we shot that video, which was fun, but the most enjoyable part was the feeling of dense humidity, seeping into my shirt, as I joked around with my wife. Margin.)
