Noticing Bubbles Rise

I took myself back to Breckenridge, Colorado last month. I went during the “off season” (between leaf-peeping and ski seasons) to see what it would be like—and it was wonderful. Most afternoons were warm enough to hike with just a fleece layer, and there was just one snowstorm to give me a foretaste of what lies ahead. As a desert dweller, I was grateful to experience just enough fresh snow to glory in its beauty without having to get out and drive in it. (I sure do like being a solopreneur!)

I’m experimenting with the idea that I can create semi-retreat times where I still need to work, but I can do it with the intention to spend part of the day in “retreat mode.” So far, I find that’s much easier to do away from “home” (whatever that currently means), where the to-do list is longer and the meetings are more frequent. I’d like to get to the point where I can take that perspective into my daily life at home…and perhaps, with intention, I can grow in that direction.

So, I spent time in Colorado being intentional about noticing things, about being present in the moment. Here’s an example. Where I stay in Breckenridge, there’s no teapot to boil water, so I boil it in a saucepan. This gives me the opportunity to watch water boil. Now, there are jokes about watched pots never boiling, but they do! And watching the process unfold is pretty cool—or is that “hot”?! I wrote a poem about it.

Watching Water Boil

Miniscule bubbles gather on the side of the pan.

Larger bubbles congregate below,

uniform and patient,

awaiting their moment to float.

Those on the edge go first,

sliding up darkened steel sides,

taking baby bubbles with them,

leaving vertical linear streaks

in paneled enameled walls.

Bigger bubbles rise,

energy massing,

surface roiling until

I remove the whole from the heat

and pour bubbles and their habitat

over waiting tea.

Part of the gift of the entire process was intentionally noticing what was unfolding before me. Watching the bubbles slide up the sides of the pan in a repeatable way led me to think I might be able to write a poem about that. I took that idea and began to play with the experience…and you can see what unfolded.

Psychologically and spiritually, what was most important for me was that the poem was in no way performative. I wasn’t trying to write something because “I need to write each day to be a writer” or “I need to craft something for my next writer-group meeting.” Instead, it felt participatory. I was participating in the moment, noticing what arose around me and in me, then reflecting more deeply on that. For me, that’s a huge and freeing difference.

What speaks to you in this story or in this bubbles poem? What would you like to do, or be, or notice in response to what I have written here?