You see, first there is this: the footer. The solid footprint upon which to build level and square, solid, straight and true.

A slab is poured.

And a rather permanent footprint is created.

This is something solid, serious, the real deal.

It means something, though I’m not sure I can define what.

I know it means it’s happening. We’re doing this. Building a little cabin way out and way high.

But it feels like it means something more.

It’s also about building dreams, a life, hand in hand as we build the walls.

Slowly. Slowed by our aging energies. Slowed by the elements. Slowed by the schedules of others we’re working around.

Is slow such a bad thing?

Maybe it just means more time. More time to consider and refine our plans. More time to hike and explore and ride and write. More time to sit and stare at the view, in silence, together, as our hearts feel as radiant as the sky.

And along with solid grounding, those cement roots we sew into the ground, there lays a message of commitment. One of the scariest things to consider.

So today I’m thinking long and hard about commitment because… well, I’m trying to figure out how committed I am.

Is commitment the ties the bind us – the burden that has our hands held tight behind our back?

Or the devotion and responsibility that keeps us tied, which in kind creates a bond more powerful than that of freedom?

At times, you know, it is both.

Commitment can be our ocean. It is the vastness that holds us up, and that threatens to take us down if we don’t learn to swim. We must soften into the water. Allow it support us, and adjust to its ebbs and flows. That which is dense and rigid is more likely to sink. Like the concrete on the footer. How do we stay afloat in this ever changing world, these ever changing times, my ever changing mind?

Commitment takes time. It can’t be forced, but takes a subtle power and pressure like water sculpting stone. One more reason to slow down. Let it sink into your bones. Let it become you. If it will. And maybe it won’t. See if it will somehow soften you, change you, and move you to evolve.

It is a choice. Dedication, devotion and duty are the glue that adheres us, what holds us to person, to place, to profession. It holds us to center, though sometimes it is just… sticky.

It is not born but comes with time, like a fine wine rolling along your tongue. Committing to growing a garden, a dog, a horse or a kid, a relationship, a book, a building. These things don’t happen over night.

Commitment takes time and work, patience, forgiveness and acceptance. It takes a certain type of kindness that is intertwined with love. And commitment takes change. Yes, to remain committed, we not only grow into it, we flow with it. Thus along the way, something happens. We become more, we become less, we become something a little different. We change.

(Perfectionism is, if not the polar opposite, than the bucket that dosed the flame. Check out what Brene Brown has to say about that in her book, “The Gifts of Imperfection.”

Are you committed? To person, to people? To place? To your craft. To your chosen lifestyle. To your beliefs and creed and faith? To the place that you call “home?”

Am I?

Until next time,

With love, always love,

Gin