Sitting Still
I've been reflecting back a lot lately, more so than usual. Maybe it is the Mercury retrograde, or that I just have too much time on my hands, but I can't help but want to take closer note of where I have been. Life as it has transpired during these past several months, even years, feels more like a random collection of moments than a linear journey with some clearly established, finite goal at the finish line. Amazingly, this feels like progress.
I don't look at things the same way anymore. I can see how the pieces all fit together, how they make up the me that I know and love, and yet the individual episodes don't quite flow together into one coherent series. Instead, it's incredibly choppy, beset with fits and starts, stockpiled with joys and sorrows, rife with depression and elation. It's sort of like one minute I am traveling the world, exalting in each snapshot of newness I encounter, and the next minute I would prefer to sit quietly in my home and never get off of my old blue futon except to relieve myself. One week I work over fifty-five hours, then I don't work at all for several weeks. One minute I fret over my finances, and seconds later I don't have a care in the world, least of all with money. I can see how the life I appear to be living is nothing more than this eclectic bag of different experiences, a winding road of emotional bumps and bruises, highs and lows, and that the only thing underlying the whole is that I have chosen each and every step. There is nothing and nobody to blame, not as if I would dare assign blame at this point anyway. These experiences make up my life, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I would not change a thing.
I feel thankful for who I am. I love the way I learn about myself, how I maneuver my way through this world, and though it can sometimes leave me feeling emotionally and physically bankrupt and weary to the core, I don't think I could have written a better script to follow. I love how when I am convicted through and through about anything, be it any next step that I want to take or new experience I want to have, that I always seem able to summon up the courage and will to make it a reality, and typically can do so in a flash.
I even have to love how sometimes I get convicted in the belief that I am just not good enough, or that I may never find real love, or that I should be doing something other than what I am doing, or that I just know that life is utterly devoid of meaning, or that I am not living up to some lofty, imaginary standards that I never wanted to establish for myself in the first place. I have to love those times, too. They are full of some serious discomfort and sadness, and yet have invariably served as the fertilizer for new growth, pushing me on to ever greater heights. Feeling those things, facing them down, has led me to right here.
The other day it occurred to me that the only real cause of suffering is the presence of change and its accompanying reaction. I tried to think of every time I have recently felt sad or depressed, and whether it had its roots in change. Every single one of them did. I either wanted something I did not have, or had something I did not want, wanted to be somewhere other than where I was, wanted someone to behave in a way they did not, etc etc. It reads like a never-ending story of wanting. Consequently, I am learning to appreciate how my life's dreams have changed and are never static, and also how long it can sometimes take to catch up with yourself, to acknowledge the brand new program that has already taken hold without your awareness. When the dust clears, this is what I think I know: That living in the past is most certainly the cause of great suffering.
Today I woke up to the sunshine of a new day in Hawaii. The gusty winds of yesterday have been replaced by a gentle hint of a breeze. I watered my plants, spending my usual fifteen to twenty minutes tending to my garden of containers housing tomatoes, zucchini, basil and carrots. I love those plants as if they were my babies. I talk to them, and some days I swear they can hear me. Yesterday, I bought seeds to plant hot peppers; perhaps I will plant them today if the mood strikes. I had my mug of coffee, which was actually three long-pulled shots of espresso made with love on my little black Nespresso machine. It is my current favorite possession, maybe the only one besides my bike that I find myself thinking about regularly.
After a quick shower, I contemplated what to do today, and instead of overthinking it, I sat down and started writing this. It is quiet in the neighborhood right now, with barely a rustle. A moment to be still and savor. Soon enough I will be working again, and these quiet, reflective mornings will be replaced by the workaday grind. After nearly a year off, that sounds like a lovely change of pace. I never thought I would say that, but there you go. Things change. Priorities shift. Sometimes, life's next great adventure is the one you never considered, right there in front of you, right exactly where you are.
I don't look at things the same way anymore. I can see how the pieces all fit together, how they make up the me that I know and love, and yet the individual episodes don't quite flow together into one coherent series. Instead, it's incredibly choppy, beset with fits and starts, stockpiled with joys and sorrows, rife with depression and elation. It's sort of like one minute I am traveling the world, exalting in each snapshot of newness I encounter, and the next minute I would prefer to sit quietly in my home and never get off of my old blue futon except to relieve myself. One week I work over fifty-five hours, then I don't work at all for several weeks. One minute I fret over my finances, and seconds later I don't have a care in the world, least of all with money. I can see how the life I appear to be living is nothing more than this eclectic bag of different experiences, a winding road of emotional bumps and bruises, highs and lows, and that the only thing underlying the whole is that I have chosen each and every step. There is nothing and nobody to blame, not as if I would dare assign blame at this point anyway. These experiences make up my life, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I would not change a thing.
I feel thankful for who I am. I love the way I learn about myself, how I maneuver my way through this world, and though it can sometimes leave me feeling emotionally and physically bankrupt and weary to the core, I don't think I could have written a better script to follow. I love how when I am convicted through and through about anything, be it any next step that I want to take or new experience I want to have, that I always seem able to summon up the courage and will to make it a reality, and typically can do so in a flash.
I even have to love how sometimes I get convicted in the belief that I am just not good enough, or that I may never find real love, or that I should be doing something other than what I am doing, or that I just know that life is utterly devoid of meaning, or that I am not living up to some lofty, imaginary standards that I never wanted to establish for myself in the first place. I have to love those times, too. They are full of some serious discomfort and sadness, and yet have invariably served as the fertilizer for new growth, pushing me on to ever greater heights. Feeling those things, facing them down, has led me to right here.
The other day it occurred to me that the only real cause of suffering is the presence of change and its accompanying reaction. I tried to think of every time I have recently felt sad or depressed, and whether it had its roots in change. Every single one of them did. I either wanted something I did not have, or had something I did not want, wanted to be somewhere other than where I was, wanted someone to behave in a way they did not, etc etc. It reads like a never-ending story of wanting. Consequently, I am learning to appreciate how my life's dreams have changed and are never static, and also how long it can sometimes take to catch up with yourself, to acknowledge the brand new program that has already taken hold without your awareness. When the dust clears, this is what I think I know: That living in the past is most certainly the cause of great suffering.
Today I woke up to the sunshine of a new day in Hawaii. The gusty winds of yesterday have been replaced by a gentle hint of a breeze. I watered my plants, spending my usual fifteen to twenty minutes tending to my garden of containers housing tomatoes, zucchini, basil and carrots. I love those plants as if they were my babies. I talk to them, and some days I swear they can hear me. Yesterday, I bought seeds to plant hot peppers; perhaps I will plant them today if the mood strikes. I had my mug of coffee, which was actually three long-pulled shots of espresso made with love on my little black Nespresso machine. It is my current favorite possession, maybe the only one besides my bike that I find myself thinking about regularly.
After a quick shower, I contemplated what to do today, and instead of overthinking it, I sat down and started writing this. It is quiet in the neighborhood right now, with barely a rustle. A moment to be still and savor. Soon enough I will be working again, and these quiet, reflective mornings will be replaced by the workaday grind. After nearly a year off, that sounds like a lovely change of pace. I never thought I would say that, but there you go. Things change. Priorities shift. Sometimes, life's next great adventure is the one you never considered, right there in front of you, right exactly where you are.
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