A few days ago, I started to write about people whose eyes look like they are always scanning the horizon. I had a point that I wanted to make, for once.

But then baby got the keyboard and turned it into a piece about Antarctica. Because my trip to Antarctica was so overwhelmingly amazing for me that, given the chance, I will turn anything I’m writing about as an opportunity to write about that trip.

[Bad baby, you’re doing it again. Focus!]

So let’s try this again.

Seeing Beyond the Horizon

To tell the story in a nutshell, I met this guy in Newfoundland, I think he was in construction, possibly roofing, and his eyes had this quality that, although we were indoors, seemed like they were always focused on the horizon.

You ever met someone like this?

It’s really easy to get sucked into looking at things within your four walls.

For your eyes to be limited to the construction around you. It’s like being trapped in your house (something we can all relate to after 2020). It’s like being trapped within one room within your house.

It’s like being trapped within your laptop screen. Or the tiny little screen on your phone. Or your phone-watch.

With each diminishing space, you narrow your focus further. You hone in on details. You concentrate.

Perhaps you begin to obsess. Details become overwhelming. You overthink every word you write or every decision that needs to be made.

Perhaps you begin to stress out.

An Expansion Meditation

There is a guided meditation that I like to do that you can find on the Insight Timer app (not a shameless plug, that’s just the one I use and I don’t know where else to find this guided meditation). It’s called Expansion Breathing Meditation by Solala Towler.

In this meditation, you start by focusing on your Lower Dantian (lower abdomen). Then you expand your awareness to an area 6 inches out from your skin. Then to the room you’re in, your home, the block your home is on, your city or town, your state, your country, your hemisphere, the earth, the solar system, the universe…

I find it a very empowering meditation, and very grounding because it forces you to get out of the minutiae of your life, all the worries that you’re obsessing about, and see yourself as something larger.

And even when he brings you back to your Lower Dantian again, you retain a sense of that limitless.

The universe within you.

Expanding at Work

In the management, we call this Going Up to the Balcony.

Instead of being down on the dancefloor, caught up in the chaos of the dancers, we step out of the fun and make our way up to a balcony overlooking the dance floor, where we can gaze down from above and notice the patterns that the dancers are making.

We can see who is lagging behind, who is off in their own little world. We can identify where the pattern is disrupted and nudge it back into place.

Or we can just revel into enjoying the flow of the dance, the fact that it is working.

When I feel overwhelmed at work, I like to clean my office.

I start with my desk, sort through any piles of papers, discard what I don’t need any more, maybe scan them in and store them online someplace if I might need them later. My first mentor, Steeeeve Pate!, used to inspire me by the pristine condition of his desk: a computer, a desk phone, a pencil cup containing 1 black pen, 1 blue pen, 1 red pen, 1 green pen, 1 pencil, and a sticky-note dispenser. That’s my ideal desk, although I add a funny little buddha or something to give it personality.

Then I move to my whiteboard, take a picture if I need to, remove any sticky notes, and wipe it clean. As clean as I can get it anyway.

A fresh clean white board is like wiping my mind clean.

It gives me a space to think out loud. To map a process that has been stymieing me. To organize the thoughts that are jumbling in my mind. To come up with something new.

A clear desktop; a fresh clean whiteboard, they allow me to focus on the horizon.

At home, it’s more challenging.

My desk at home is a mess. My inner Steve is ashamed of it. My walls don’t contain a whiteboard, they are covered in Snoopy art. My living room overflows with books, bicycle equipment, and cat toys.

But I do clear the decks when I’m about to start cooking.

I empty the dish drainer, wash any dishes so the sink is empty, clean down the counters. Shove the vitamins and prescriptions back into their nook.

Then I go through the recipe and pull out all the ingredients and a whole bunch of tiny ramekins. After making sure I have everything – (Oops, can I substitute something for that? Or do I need to run out to the store?) – I wash, slice, chop, dice, measure each thing until everything is prepped, discard the packaging or replace the extras in the fridge, and line up the bowls in the order that the ingredients will be used. If they’re being cooked on the stovetop, they line up next to the stove; if they’re not, they get lined up on the opposite counter. Clean the knife and cutting board and set them aside to dry.

Then, often as not, I heat the pan, heat the oil in the pan, and add my first ingredient. While that’s cooking, I place the dirty ramekin or bowl in the dishwasher or sink. If I have time because the first ingredient needs to cook down, I might wash the bowl. Repeat with each ingredient.

Turn off the smoke detector.

And, by the time I’m done cooking, most of the clean up has finished. Just the pans need to be done and that can happen after we eat.

But the important part of all this is starting with a clean kitchen.

I can, and have, cooked in a kitchen with a sink full of dirty dishes or a dish rack that is already full. For example, when we’re at my sister’s or a sister-in-law’s house. But I don’t enjoy it.

At my sister-in-law’s house, my chosen role is KP.

While everyone else is stirring, cooking, layering, I circulate through the room, picking up dishes they’re done with, and cleaning them. Finding out what ingredient they need next, washing, prepping, and measuring them; making sure they are handy for what the chef needs next.

It’s not a glamourous role: I’m not going to point at the turkey or the lasagna and say, “I made that!”

But it makes the kitchen a more friendly place and allows the chefs to focus on what they’re doing without worrying about having enough counter space to avoid knocking food on the floor, or getting in each other’s way. It lowers the stress and allows the chefs to work their magic.

And I’m fine with that.

They are focused on the details, my attention is from the balcony.

Beyond the horizon.

Limitless.