Being grounded is one of those phrases with very different meanings. In the context of the hundred of teens I spent time with in two very diverse communities this week, it means one thing: to be stuck at home as a consequence of behaving in ways that draw parental disapproval.
Here’s what it means to me tonight: being home again and finding my way back into habits that keep me sane and centered after a month of crossing 9 time zones in jumbo jets, walking below ground in caves that have art created as many as 36,000 years ago, and attending high school graduations in rural Nevada and in the People’s Republic of Berkeley.
It means unpacking, paying bills, recycling junk mail, weeding, going to yoga, petting the kitties, and venturing out into the neighborhood again, enjoying the roses, snapdragons, clematis, and bachelor buttons now blooming. Simple tasks and ordinary pleasures can help the body and mind settle back into a grounded awareness.
These aren’t my red shoes, but don’t they look nicely planted on the ground?