Rut — (dubious real estate):
From Middle English rutte, from Middle French ruit, or “disturbance,” from Latin rugire “to roar.”*
Read: frustration. Hair-tearing, hollow, dead-end days. A rut is the one place nobody wants to wallow.
What I’m learning? No matter how slight, every rut, by its nature, has an up-side.
Imagine ambling down a misty dirt road with me after a hard June rain. We pause to map this puddle. 
Note the fjord-like perimeter. The little puddle that wanted to be the Norwegian Sea.
As an art major at St. Olaf College, 46 Junes ago I helped my advisor execute a wall-sized mural for the posh campus restaurant (where students still take visiting parents in hopes of a steak).
Working to scale, we reproduced Norway’s uber-erratic coastline.
A map was enlarged, traced onto paper. Yours truly cut the stencils, hour after hour. No errors or eye rolls allowed. No accidentally lopping off minor headlands, islets or inlets.
Think focused dexterity. Quantum patience. Nordic fortitude (Ja sure, you betcha!).
Then we tackled Sweden, Finland, and Denmark.
Need I mention multitudinous X-acto blades?
My knife and I settled into a mechanical, minimum wage rut.
The only difference between a rut and a grave are the dimensions. —Ellen Glasgow
How quickly routines become habitual. Hidebound. Auto pilot is convenient, but numbing. Increasingly tired, uninspired, our days drag.
Except …
remember the peculiar rut-become-puddle reflecting the heavens?
The same dirt road, above, now glints with myriad ice formations.
Below? Same stretch, last summer. Seems parched earth plays a role in forming those extravagant margins.
I goosed the colors, then added 6 subtle overlays. Can you spot all 6?** (answers below)
No matter your score, you focused precious curiosity on a sight most people would bypass. Or step around to save their shoes.
What else are we overlooking, right at our feet?
Roads erode. Metaphorically, unpaved ways wear on the soul. No matter how stuck or dull or sidelined we feel enduring the humdrum—commuting, flossing, wiping down counters, mowing, moisturizing, paying bills—I’m banking on this: there’s an underlying rhythm.
In a rut? Or … in the groove?
Ephesians translates the Greek word poeima, literally “poem,” as God’s “workmanship”—which includes us: sentient, sensory beings shaped from dust, sometimes groping our way forward.
“So the Poet himself stepped out of heaven and into the poem, onto the dusty trails of the earth and into the desperate ruts of our souls …” writes Emily P. Freeman in A Million Little Ways.
Because of this …
Our lives are at once ordinary and mythical. … We have these magnificent hearts that pump through all sorrow and all winters we are alive on earth,” Natalie Goldberg observes (Writing Down the Bones).
After Dreamer’s open heart surgery, I know this as never before. Still, some days recovery is a shared rut, no end in sight.
So we hold hands, stay with it, notice the margins. We watch for random sparkle, reflections of heaven.
Hence, these photos: hard evidence that amid the mundane, something glimmers.
May we do no less.
- *Merriam Webster
- **ANSWER: 3 partial fireworks, top left margin and bottom right corner. Three black twiglets, bottom margin, left to right
Are you currently in a rut, or in the groove? Could it be both?
I will see mud puddles in a new way. I had been thinking about the phrase “growing old gracefully” and pictured myself lightly stepping through a picket fence gate, wearing a sunbonnet and gathering “rosebuds while I may” …in truth, it feels more like I have tripped on a rock by the gate and found myself in the mud of my “old age garden”. I have decided that I shall aim to “grow old gratefully” because too many of my friends have not had that privilege. The flowers are still there to be enjoyed and I can stomp through the mud with my gray hair and clogs and gather less than perfect hardy mums and even some lovely weeds in my big old apron.
Ruth, I’ve been seeing puddles differently too since writing this post. I like your adaptation of the usual phrase to “grow old gratefully.” And I can picture you gathering that bouquet into your “big old apron” with a smile on your face and a mind already deciding on the right container and placement, or perhaps recipient? I’m betting you freely share your blooms.
Well, my friend, once again, you delighted me with your wit and wonder. I am truly in a brand new “rut”, working at a glamorous new hotel, doing a wild variety of jobs, from front desk to meal server to housekeeping, as need be! The shorelines of this new fjord include steep learning curves, undulating degrees of confidence, (or lack there of…), and deep bodies of new knowledge lapping at this old brain. I am thankful for the fjordian-perspective you have given to this new rut in my life… Where the path cleanly laid out has been diverted. There is beauty and wonder in the moments! I am employable and useful after all, and I am part of a legend in the making, part of the very first staff at this luxury spa hotel. Oh, the stories I will be able to tell! Love and prayers for you and Dreamer.
Dear Pacia, Jill of All Trades and Girl Friday amid the glamor, oh my goodness what changes since last we spoke! Your positive outlook shines. May beauty and wonder envelop you daily. May you daily enjoy your legend-in-the-making. And meet wonderful people. Thanks for taking time out to visit my puddle. 🙂 Prayers and love for you two as well!
Not in a rut, more like forging a new path….and trying to deal with all the dailyness of humdrum that must be attended to.
My life is richer being a party to the way you see the world, Laurie.
Now there’s an exciting answer! I’m grinning over the energy inherent in “forging.” It makes me think of anvils and strength and lasting work—even when the heat is on and you’re writing to deadline, my friend. And now I have a new angle from which to pray for a fellow wordsmith. 🙂
I’ve never seen a lovelier puddle! And I always marvel how you take ordinary words and create lovely poetic thoughts like this one: “We watch for random sparkle, reflections of heaven.” I want to be one of those who takes note of the beauty right under my feet–and turns it into gratitude and praise. Maybe even get a little poetic. Thank you for inspiring my heart, Laurie!
Nancy, you are so encouraging, thank you. Don’t underestimate the power of your blog, my friend. There is lyricism and heart in your prose and prayers. You’ve inspired me as well.
Thanks Laurie. I’m in a rut, praying & looking for the groove. Timely…
Hug the ‘Dreamer’ for me. Love you guys!
Hug duly delivered. 🙂 I’ll join you in prayer that you find the new groove, friend. Dreamer aced their street gig today (musicians on downtown corners raising funds for the food bank), which helped him feel part of life again. We love you both and know good things will open up for you.
Beautiful, thoughtful piece, Laurie. I appreciate your realism (you don’t ignore the rut), and your hope-compass that can still detect a sky-filled puddle.
Bethany, oh I like that image: “hope-compass.” Thank you for this gift, and the gift of your loving, articulate presence today. The word “detect” strikes me as well. Makes things seem more like an adventure. 🙂 I am grateful for you!
The way you see things is such an encouragement, Laurie. Now I know how that rut-puddle feels. 😉
You’ve set my imagination in motion . . . Same thing happened when I read your essay for TS. Keep writing!!!
Laurie, thank you for this!
Bethany, you are so welcome! Your time is precious. Thank YOU for reading it. 🙂