Finding Anchor in Life’s Changing Currents

Sometimes, I think about how bewildering it can be to feel adrift. Not lost, exactly, but…unmoored. As if the familiar currents that used to guide you have shifted course, and you’re simply bobbing, hoping for a gentle breeze to carry you somewhere worthwhile. That’s how it felt, really, after I retired. Thirty-four years of the school calendar anchoring my days – the rhythm of curriculum planning, parent-teacher conferences, grading papers – and then…silence. A very pleasant silence, mind you, but still a silence that demanded to be filled.

It's funny, isn't it, how we often treat our mental well-being like a fragile thing, something to be coddled and protected. But I’ve come to believe it’s much more akin to a garden. A garden requires tending, yes, but it also thrives when it's diverse. A single row of tulips might be lovely, but a garden bursting with different flowers, vegetables, herbs—that's a garden truly teeming with life. And so it is with our inner lives.

Think about managing finances. Most of us wouldn’t put all our eggs in one basket. We diversify investments – stocks, bonds, real estate – understanding that a downturn in one area doesn't have to sink the whole ship. The same principle applies to our sense of self. Relying on a single source of validation – a career, a relationship, even a hobby – leaves you vulnerable. If that one thing falters, the entire foundation can feel shaky.

I’ve always found a strange comfort in astrology, even when I was actively teaching. It felt like a private, quiet language I could use to understand patterns. But retiring shifted my perspective. Suddenly, it wasn't just about natal charts and transits; it was about the cycles of life, the ebb and flow, the constant process of growth and decay. And it made me think about resilience, about how to build a life that could weather the inevitable storms. It’s less about avoiding the rain and more about learning how to be a sturdy tree, rooted deep.

Phyllis and I had a little equinox gathering in my backyard last autumn, just the two of us. We sat amongst the sunflowers I’d planted – monstrous things, they were, easily taller than I am – and talked about all sorts of things. It was a simple moment, but it felt significant. It marked the beginning of a deeper understanding of how to nurture my own well-being, not as a luxury, but as a necessity. It wasn't about grand gestures, but about the small, consistent acts of tending.

For me, that tending has involved rediscovering old passions, like the quiet pleasure of weeding the garden or losing myself in a good book. It's meant trying new things, too—learning to bake sourdough bread, attempting (with varying degrees of success) to sketch the birds in my yard. Each of these small endeavors contributes to a sense of purpose, a feeling of agency, a quiet sense of freedom. Freedom to be, simply to be, without the weight of expectation.

And it’s also about recognizing that self-care isn't selfish; it's essential. It's not about elaborate spa days or extravagant vacations (though those are lovely, of course!). It’s about making choices that nourish your soul – saying no to obligations that drain you, carving out time for activities that bring you joy, prioritizing connection with people who lift you up. It’s about creating a life that feels, simply, sustainable.

Ultimately, I think what we’re all searching for is a sense of autonomy, a feeling that we are the authors of our own lives. And just as financial well-being provides the resources to navigate life’s challenges, a robust sense of inner well-being provides the strength and resilience to face whatever comes our way. It's a lifelong endeavor, this tending of the garden within, but it’s a journey well worth taking.