Boundary Work // Pekudei
It is finally happening. I am building a zen garden path. It has taken quite a while to get here.
All I know is that when I am squatting down, close to the earth, smelling the forest floor, lining the path with two rows of pine cones in a chevron pattern, my son is watching. He bounces between having his face right up close to mine, admiring the pattern, collecting more pine cones for me, and gallivanting off into his own make believe play and world. It feels very right.
For my birthday I told my husband the only things I want are family photos and a delivery of Douglas fir nuggets for the path building. Specifically, I am building a path around the perimeter of our circular property.
I cannot wait to walk this path when it is complete. They will be my prayer walks. I will open both our side gates, and walk slowly, contemplatively along the path. Like a monk.
My dog will trot alongside me, weaving back between me and the path and following the scents he picks up on, much like my son does as I work.
Each cone lining the path will be like a prayer. Pine cones are powerful. They aren’t tree seeds themselves. They are the reproductive vessels of a tree. The seeds are contained within them. As I walk I will pray for blessings upon our home and its inhabitants.
Traditional blessings and prayers, as well as ones from my own heart. Prayers for protection. Prayers for peace. Prayers for closeness. Prayers for wisdom and understanding. Prayers for joy. Prayers for comfort in times of sorrow. Prayers for bravery. It will be, quite definitively, loving boundary work.
***
Holy wow. Boundary work is tough for everyone. It is especially tough for recovering people pleasers. Some things I remind myself of often, that I’ve picked up from people much smarter than I:
-Ask yourself, has this person earned the right to hear this story?
-I can say no, just because I want to. I don’t need to justify or explain it.
-Boundaries are needed to create a safe place to exist.
***
The mantra in my head on the last mile of my run yesterday was a new one. It alternated between a few versions of this powerful statement:
You’re not the boss of me.
As I mentioned in last week’s essay, I no longer have a full time employer. But this mantra actually isn’t about an employment context.
You’re not the boss of me.
Louder, for the people in the back. You’re not the boss of me.
I was running on the riverpath adjacent to my son’s preschool. I kept looking down at all the beautiful, large, dry pine cones. The same kind as in my own yard. So many cones. I wanted them. I’m actually running out of them in my own yard. I liked the idea of bringing the energy of different trees to our loving boundary zen fairy garden path. As I ran, I felt sad for the trees. Am I the only one who appreciates these gorgeous pine cones?
You’re not the boss of me.
Realizing I would have about a half hour before preschool pickup, I thought how I wanted to collect some to bring home. But how? Then I remembered I had the large red mixing bowl still in my trunk from bringing the challah dough to bake over at my in laws last week. Perfect.
Then I thought about the strange looks I might get. I came up with what I would say. I would say I’m a preschool teacher and they’re for an art project and smile kindly at said imaginary judgy stranger. Then I thought, F that. I don’t need to explain myself to anyone.
Why should I care what random strangers think of me? Digging deeper, why should I care what anyone thinks of me? What’s most important is what I think of me. That’s it.
You’re not the boss of me.
I laid my jean jacket down at the base of a perfect tree to gather a mixing bowl full of cones, scalp still sweaty and face still red from the running effort. My mantra spurred me to run quite fast.
I took my hair tie out and let my ponytail free to help my scalp dry faster, and also my long hair keeps my neck and shoulders warm. Ah, that post run feeling. I hadn’t yet gathered a dozen cones when my sister Facetimed. I answered. “Where are you?”
We giggled at my silly circumstances. I told her my you’re not the boss of me revelation. She shared some all too relatable third trimester pregnancy woes. No matter what, it seems, our almost daily lunchtime Facetime calls manage to cheer both of us up. I was already in a quite cheery state, so by the time we hung up I was positively buzzing.
***
In Pekudei, the construction of the tabernacle is finished. It is anointed with oil. A cloud comes and resides over it, signaling the presence of G-d.
In my mind’s eye, when I’m done building the path, building my loving boundary, when the last cone is placed, I see clouds rolling in at that exact moment.
When was the last time you actually took ten minutes to watch clouds roll by? Mine was Tuesday, in the car parked by the grocery store after preschool drop off. Leah was sleeping in her car seat, and I didn’t want to risk waking her in the transfer, so I just sat there. I honestly couldn’t tell you the last time I did before that. Watched the clouds. Frivolous. Not productive. Mundane. Beautiful.
Shabbat Shalom, friends.
P.S. The red mixing bowl for challah is still full of those pine cones in my front yard, waiting to be placed. Don’t worry though, I have more than one mixing bowl. And yay for a a fresh shaker of dill weed! Gotta do garlic herb this week :)