Spring is like a teenager…..

….Messy, unpredictable, sometimes downright reckless; at times, surprisingly graceful but often awkward or self-absorbed.  Full of promise.

In the Midwest, in early April, we’re heavily into the Season of Mud.

Before we can enjoy our technicolor moment of awakening, like when Dorothy opened her cabin door after her rude trip over the rainbow, and greets the world in vivid colors never experienced before, we have to pass through the Season of Mud.

In late March, snow only came in light dustings.  Clearable from my car windshield with a wave of my gloved hand.

Small patches of ice seemed to melt from dimples in the sidewalk.

I brought my winter jacket and cashmere sweaters to the drycleaner the other week, deeming that they needn’t be worn for many months.

I have been enjoying the extra hour of daylight since we changed our clocks.

Although spring has been slow in coming on, I’ve felt that things have been moving in the right direction.

But then, there’s the MUD.  UNAVOIDABLE.  STICKY.  OMNIRESENT.

I’m not sure if the abundance of mud is caused by April showers, or if mud actually comes up from the earth at this time of year as part of the seasonal order of things, just before tulips and crocuses, but it’s everywhere you look.

I complain about it; how I have to wipe off my dog’s paws after a walk, how there’s no safe way to make it from where I park my car to my building’s front door without dragging my boots through it, how it adds to the dreariness of grey ceiling-less skies that hang around after a misting.

But in some ways, I like the Season of Mud.

A few years ago, I wrote a blog post about mud, too.  I contemplated the Buddhist notion of beauty and referenced the lotus, which is considered to be one of the most beautiful of flowers. It only grows in the mud.  The thoughts this idea stirred were many.

My biggest takeaway at the time was that new life of all kinds, a painting or a poem, comes into the world after a passionate and chaotic conception, often after a protracted and uncomfortable gestation period.  And this reality somehow adds to the beauty.

This April, I’ve been struck by the beauty of ORDER.

Considering myself a creative type, I often dwell on process.  I like to live in endless moments.  I have come to accept, no — expect, a high level of dynamism and disequilibrium in my life, evidenced by how I choose to live.

But recently, in the quiet of meditation, I got the impression that I needed to show appreciation to myself, that I needed to demonstrate to myself that I valued my own intentions and growth, and that the way to do this was to create and respect order.

This encompassed giving more time to putting things away in my office and kitchen, so where I spend a lot of my time could feel more peaceful.  This also meant allotting time for stretching or exercising in the morning. I find it too easy to skip hip openers or crunches on my new BOSU ball if left to do at night when I am more likely to be tired.

When you plan to give time and space to something, it’s a way to show value and respect.

COMPLETION can be experienced as BEAUTY   It feels important not to skip any steps, to do everything that is necessary to achieve an outcome.

There’s a sort of beauty in performing an oil change properly or following a recipe for killer chocolate chip cookies.

Steps can’t be skipped. Sometimes, all the steps need to be accomplished in a certain order. I can even appreciate some things because they make other things FIT.

I can say that I am ready to embrace the Season of Mud.  I don’t think it can be skipped before the world blooms and life looks lush.

Loving the Season of Mud is no small thing.