soaring and flapping

My dad flies sail planes (aka gliders, aka airplanes sans engines), and he tells me it's just like sailing. Most of the time I'm skeptical.

Then this morning, riding my bike by the Stanford foothills, I saw a lone, out-of-place seagull riding the air current coming off the hill. I could almost tells what it was thinking, as each time the wind took an unexpected turn, it had to flap its wings a bit more before it could glide for awhile. I felt myself getting frustrated on the bird's behalf that the wind wouldn't stay constant enough for her to look for food, or enjoy the view, or whatever she was trying to do.

I thought about my own patterns of effort and rest. Often when I feel tired, it's because I'm avoiding something, so rest doesn't help. I think, "I deserve rest now." But really, when I have to flap and when I get to soar isn't up to me. I will do both, but I have to take my orders from the wind and the mountain.