I thought it was something that I wanted. Something that I was due for a long time spent waiting. Weeks later I know far more than I ever thought I'd want to know about myself and the way my heart works. Or in this case, doesn't work. And it turns out that it had nothing at all to do with him and everything in fact to do with me.
The truth is I spend an awful lot of time hiding. Not saying what I'd really like to say, not being the person I really want to be, and doing all the things I know are only going to come back around to bite me in the ass before I can bat an eyelash or two.
When it comes to men, I'm a natural disaster. And I keep thinking that maybe eventually something will change despite the fact that I keep running myself around the same circles and ending up with the same old worn out results. For a smart woman, I am optimistically dumb. I say that and smile. Somehow being naive in this fashion makes me entertaining to myself...
But not everything is a made for TV movie funny. Interaction between two people can destroy you. Rip you to ribbons. Tear you from the inside out and leave you weak, praying for mercy and finding none.
You have to remind yourself that no one can make you feel less unless you let them. No one can make you feel nameless or faceless unless you give them the ability to make you invisible. And I am not a second hand replacement. A means to an end. A night or two of peace and sanctuary.
So I made two mistakes. One right on top of the other and both with very identical results. One that was more of an I waited this long and by George I'm going to try it out to see if it was worth the wait and one on a whim because for just a moment I wasn't thinking very clearly at all. Neither brought me any closer to having happy as a result.
These life lessons are hard to learn. Because to pick apart the bones, I had to tear the seams to show myself just how far I'd unraveled. I'm nowhere close to being who I'm meant to be. I get sidetracked far too easily. I make mistakes more often than not. And my best of intentions can be forgotten on the fly. But I'm awake and trying and considering how long I've been asleep, things can only get better from here.
Hearth Fires
Houses have feelings. I believe that as much as I believe that calling a place home doesn't always make it feel like home. Places like people either accept you or reject you from the start, welcoming you in or making you feel uncomfortable enough to make you want to leave sooner rather than later.
I have lived, if sometimes you could call it living, in both of these places... Homes I've left that I've had no desire to leave and those I've ran from as if I couldn't flee fast enough from the hounds of hell. Uprooting time and time again searching for something a little more permanent, someplace to stay just a little bit longer, a home to call mine and mine alone.
I sit in my reading room typing away this morning in quiet while my daughter, the dogs and even the cats remain fast asleep. Around me there are empty boxes waiting to be packed, labeled and put by the door in their readiness to go. But I think to myself that it's not quite real yet, this leaving. And it just may be that I won't believe that some other house is going to be my home until I'm crossing its threshold with that first box of whatever magic it is inside that helps to make a house a home.
I dread the thought of taking my pictures down from their walls, rolling the carpets up to carry them down the stairs, and emptying each room until the only part left of me to leave behind is the color I chose to paint them. Golden yellow, coffee and cream, oatmeal with a cinnamon raisin accent wall, sage green for comfort and for KC bright hues of celeron greens and turquoise blues.
This apartment has been a blessing. From the moment I first saw it, I saw past all of the problems both big and small. To me it was like a fairy tale castle high above and away from the rest of the world, safe from the dragons below. I hid here until I learned how to live here and the living has been good.
I am not the woman I was when I landed here with broken wings and broken spirit. And I have learned to let go of the lesson that I was so cruelly and needlessly taught, forced to endure rather than live. The fear I used to feel, the tears I used to cry, the feeling of always needing to look over my shoulder to make sure that no one was there, all of that is gone...
A good home does that for you.
Rebuilding as it repairs.
Protecting as it provides.
I have lived, if sometimes you could call it living, in both of these places... Homes I've left that I've had no desire to leave and those I've ran from as if I couldn't flee fast enough from the hounds of hell. Uprooting time and time again searching for something a little more permanent, someplace to stay just a little bit longer, a home to call mine and mine alone.
I sit in my reading room typing away this morning in quiet while my daughter, the dogs and even the cats remain fast asleep. Around me there are empty boxes waiting to be packed, labeled and put by the door in their readiness to go. But I think to myself that it's not quite real yet, this leaving. And it just may be that I won't believe that some other house is going to be my home until I'm crossing its threshold with that first box of whatever magic it is inside that helps to make a house a home.
I dread the thought of taking my pictures down from their walls, rolling the carpets up to carry them down the stairs, and emptying each room until the only part left of me to leave behind is the color I chose to paint them. Golden yellow, coffee and cream, oatmeal with a cinnamon raisin accent wall, sage green for comfort and for KC bright hues of celeron greens and turquoise blues.
This apartment has been a blessing. From the moment I first saw it, I saw past all of the problems both big and small. To me it was like a fairy tale castle high above and away from the rest of the world, safe from the dragons below. I hid here until I learned how to live here and the living has been good.
I am not the woman I was when I landed here with broken wings and broken spirit. And I have learned to let go of the lesson that I was so cruelly and needlessly taught, forced to endure rather than live. The fear I used to feel, the tears I used to cry, the feeling of always needing to look over my shoulder to make sure that no one was there, all of that is gone...
A good home does that for you.
Rebuilding as it repairs.
Protecting as it provides.
Holding the Dream
It hasn't hit me yet. Or at least it doesn't seem quite real. At least not now. Not even with a few half packed boxes scattered through the rooms, half started, hanging open, waiting to be taped shut and labeled with a description of whatever it is inside.
It doesn't feel real at all. I've been waiting so, so long... I'd almost given up. Discouraged by what I wanted, where I needed it to be and what I believed was an impossible wish list of wants that wouldn't be answered.
And yet, miracles... A touch of faith and fate that led me one night to walk by a house that even before I knew it was for sale caused me to stop in my tracks and admire what I saw. Tucked away like a fairy tale cottage, quiet as if it were contemplating great things in the smallest of ways, looking every bit as if it were waiting for something wonderful to happen by. And there I stood, dreaming...
But a girl like me knows a lot of things, namely that dreams seldom become reality. They linger on your mind, tempt you with longing and slowly fade like morning mist rising from a lake.
And I still don't trust myself that it's all for real. I hold back the bulk of my excitement, wanting now the security of my signature across a page, and a firm final handshake that says the deal is done, made and impossible to break. Then and only then, when the keys are in my hand and I'm carrying that first box through the door for the very first time will I believe that this house is finally mine and that I've succeeded in doing what I haven't been able to do for so long...
For the first time ever, I'll be able to give my daughter a place that she can really call home.
Pipe Dreams?
Libraries make me cry. Or to be more specific, my library makes me cry. Or maybe, just maybe I was feeling a bit weepy today and just happened to be at the library when the tears threatened to start rolling down my face. Then again it seems that whenever I go to the library, which mind you this is me we're talking about so the word often does come into play, I always seem to be fighting to keep myself together.
I think it has something to do with walking down the aisles, searching for that ever elusive book and knowing that the one I'm searching for is the one I've been wanting to write and just haven't gotten around to yet. And every time this feeling comes over me, it reminds me of something that Toni Morrison once said, "If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it."
So what am I waiting for?
Freezing On the 4th
For a fourth of July it's freezing. And while I know it's cold, cold enough to throw a little heat around the room by burning a few flames in the fireplace, it still hasn't occurred to me to get up and close the windows. Instead a cool damp breeze blows in through the curtains while I sit wrapped up in my daughter's zerba blanket throw writing down these words and ignoring my cell phone as it rings.
Ignoring it because I know it's my Dad and I know he can only be calling for one thing, to let me know that he's going to the gym and that he expects to see me there. And I've got to admit, for the last month or so I've let myself off of the strict regimen I've been holding myself to for over the past year. Tired may be as tired does, but not going is not going to get me any further from where I am. So I suppose I should motivate and do something besides shiver.
Leave of Absence
Alligators are surrounding my bed and getting back to sleep now is not an option. Imaginary or not, they're there and I'm here safely out of harms way at least for another night. Evidently animal planet is not the way to go before bed though truth be told I turned it off during a show about cats so I'm not really sure how it is that alligators came into play... It must be my subconscious mind letting go of something too big for it to handle.
This is my few free minutes of downtime for today. Sooner rather than later, I am about to start pulling myself together to get things ready and organized for my trip to Iowa.
Iowa, you ask?
I could answer that I've joined some bizarre dating club hence my venture into foreign fields to go and find myself a corn fed boy, but the truth is, I'm going for work and at this point a corn fed boy doesn't appear to be on the menu.
That being said, I'm seriously done with boys wanting to be men and men acting like they're still little boys. In the past few weeks, I think I've heard everything that a woman can hear. And can I just say that no, I'm not buying into a word of it. Not a stinking one.
And since there's really nothing to stick my neck out for, at least not from my angle of viewing, it's time to simply walk away and chalk this one up to lack of common sense, years of wondering well maybe and a neediness in me to hold out for something that week after week after another same old really whatever happened to the word progression week stayed as stagnant as two people in the same room, sharing the same breath can be for months at a time with no resolution other than for me to decide now is the time to draw the line and say done.
So done.
The good news however is that I feel neither sadness nor remorse. My heart did not get broken this go round, although the friendship I once had with this man has suffered irrefutable harm. There is no going back from this to whatever we were before. Too many things have both been said and done to forget that when it mattered most, he proved that I didn't matter. He took all that he could take, gave nothing back in return, and turned the tables to say that it was all my fault when called out on his bad behavior. And that my friends, is no friend in my book. No friend in my life.
So maybe I'll cool my heels for a while - the field days from two weeks before notwithstanding. Funny that. I got more out of one night with --- (and who would have guessed that?) than I ever did these past eight months with Jake. A woman was due! But now this woman goes back to playing it straight and narrow, keeping her cards close to hand until something more comes passing by to say hello.
Garden 2009 Pictures
Early yet in the season but in a month from now this is going to look fantastic!
Life On the Run
I don't miss the days of being idle, but I do miss not having the time to simply take my time...
Today was over almost as soon as my feet hit the floor this morning. I was in the shower, dressed to go, putting the pups in their harnesses and out the door to take them for their walk before most people were even awake. And when I returned from my two mile trek around the block it was have something quick for breakfast, answer my phone to say yes I was ready to trade in my street clothes for gym clothes and off again to spend an hour at the gym.
From the gym to home to get KC to go to Panera's to have our Sunday ritual brunch, a cup of coffee and read the paper. To the store to pick up KC's finally fixed computer, to the mall to buy a few things the paper said was on sale. Home to throw laundry in the wash, laundry in the dryer and fold laundry to be put away. Back out the door to hit the garden center to spend another few hours making my garden look all nicey nice and then upstairs to make dinner, clean up from making yet another mess to now... Ready to call it a night and head off to bed.
It's no wonder I'm tired...
Today was over almost as soon as my feet hit the floor this morning. I was in the shower, dressed to go, putting the pups in their harnesses and out the door to take them for their walk before most people were even awake. And when I returned from my two mile trek around the block it was have something quick for breakfast, answer my phone to say yes I was ready to trade in my street clothes for gym clothes and off again to spend an hour at the gym.
From the gym to home to get KC to go to Panera's to have our Sunday ritual brunch, a cup of coffee and read the paper. To the store to pick up KC's finally fixed computer, to the mall to buy a few things the paper said was on sale. Home to throw laundry in the wash, laundry in the dryer and fold laundry to be put away. Back out the door to hit the garden center to spend another few hours making my garden look all nicey nice and then upstairs to make dinner, clean up from making yet another mess to now... Ready to call it a night and head off to bed.
It's no wonder I'm tired...
Up For Discussion
A night out with friends is just what a girl needs when everything around her seems to be crisscrossed with lines of confusion. And last night was the perfect way to end a long and endless week. Dinner with friends, glasses of wine all the way around, with stories to tell and inadvertently share with the man sitting at the table beside us.
I'm quite convinced that opportunity having presented itself he would have slid his chair over to hang onto every word in detail rather than the few he managed to eavesdrop on. Then again mention the word blow job in polite society and there's hardly a man in the world capable of resisting not wanting to know what it is you're going to say when your conversation is clearly so much better than his own.
I'm quite convinced that opportunity having presented itself he would have slid his chair over to hang onto every word in detail rather than the few he managed to eavesdrop on. Then again mention the word blow job in polite society and there's hardly a man in the world capable of resisting not wanting to know what it is you're going to say when your conversation is clearly so much better than his own.
Once
What did I do wrong?
The answer to that question could provide the answer to every question I've ever had. Every doubt, every insecurity, every give a mile to take an inch moment of my life could be wrapped up in in a matter of seconds with his explanation of why I wasn't good enough and why I haven't been worth the effort.
Families don't stop when you walk out the door regardless of who did the leaving or who was left behind. We were all collateral damage, broken with a need for mending. And I was just a kid, so crazy hurt by the whole affair that it was easier to push away than to hold on tight. I have the stupidity of my own youth to use as an excuse. I wonder though, what his excuse is? Or if he even has one. And does he miss me as much as I sometimes miss him? Or has he simply chosen to forget that once I was his daughter too?
The answer to that question could provide the answer to every question I've ever had. Every doubt, every insecurity, every give a mile to take an inch moment of my life could be wrapped up in in a matter of seconds with his explanation of why I wasn't good enough and why I haven't been worth the effort.
Families don't stop when you walk out the door regardless of who did the leaving or who was left behind. We were all collateral damage, broken with a need for mending. And I was just a kid, so crazy hurt by the whole affair that it was easier to push away than to hold on tight. I have the stupidity of my own youth to use as an excuse. I wonder though, what his excuse is? Or if he even has one. And does he miss me as much as I sometimes miss him? Or has he simply chosen to forget that once I was his daughter too?
The Frustration of House Hunting
I'm beginning to think that I may never find the house of my dreams and that it just may be in my dreams that I will ever be able to purchase a house in the area where I want to live. Just my luck, I move to a place where the price of homes, regardless of their condition is higher than anywhere else around just because the zip code happens to be coveted by those who already live there.
Still I'm looking. Every day I get on my computer and see if anything new has been added to the list for sale. And every day I hope against hope that there just may be something on that list that falls within a price range that I can manage to take a look at. Last week I was so close... I found a house I could truly picture myself and KC living in, it was in the right price range and I wasted no time in putting an official offer in. Unfortunately someone else must have had the same idea because one day on the market in my town equated into two official bids, one of which was mine and of course, mine was the one that was not accepted. Or as I said last week was the official offer of levity before the seller could say yes to the real one.
So another house come and gone has left me starting all over again feeling rather hopeless that I'm ever going to find anything that I can afford. At least not when I'm counting on my one and only income to pay the way. It honestly puts me at a disadvantage against anyone with two incomes looking for property. They can get closer to what a seller is asking for, and I've still got to use my common sense when I throw out the number that is my absolute best.
I can only do what I can do though. And though many a person has told me that I just simply need to look somewhere else, the truth of the matter is this... I need to stay where I need to stay for my daughter's education. There's not another school around like the one she's currently in that can offer her the ability to jump start her future before she's even given it a second thought. It offers the very best in teachers. It offers the very best in programs, through and through. It lacks for nothing and they are a true example of no child being left behind. They demand excellence from their students and they get it, and the kids don't even know just how hard they're being pushed.
No... I can't take KC out of this school system. I won't do it. So I'll figure it out... I always do.
Still I'm looking. Every day I get on my computer and see if anything new has been added to the list for sale. And every day I hope against hope that there just may be something on that list that falls within a price range that I can manage to take a look at. Last week I was so close... I found a house I could truly picture myself and KC living in, it was in the right price range and I wasted no time in putting an official offer in. Unfortunately someone else must have had the same idea because one day on the market in my town equated into two official bids, one of which was mine and of course, mine was the one that was not accepted. Or as I said last week was the official offer of levity before the seller could say yes to the real one.
So another house come and gone has left me starting all over again feeling rather hopeless that I'm ever going to find anything that I can afford. At least not when I'm counting on my one and only income to pay the way. It honestly puts me at a disadvantage against anyone with two incomes looking for property. They can get closer to what a seller is asking for, and I've still got to use my common sense when I throw out the number that is my absolute best.
I can only do what I can do though. And though many a person has told me that I just simply need to look somewhere else, the truth of the matter is this... I need to stay where I need to stay for my daughter's education. There's not another school around like the one she's currently in that can offer her the ability to jump start her future before she's even given it a second thought. It offers the very best in teachers. It offers the very best in programs, through and through. It lacks for nothing and they are a true example of no child being left behind. They demand excellence from their students and they get it, and the kids don't even know just how hard they're being pushed.
No... I can't take KC out of this school system. I won't do it. So I'll figure it out... I always do.
Coming to Terms
I wait for better things to happen. Take small pleasures where I can. Cold spaghetti in the morning for breakfast, gardening in the darkness of the night. I ease my mind in quiet ways, taking in my disappointment measure by measure, holding onto it long enough to let it go.
I let go of dreams in singular silence, a sweet exhale of breath that sends dandelion puffs soaring on the wind, scattering seeds, scattering weeds of what remains to make flowers so unwanted by some, and only cherished by few. It is what we make of it I think. The way we feel about something or someone that can take us to the greatest of highs or sink us to the very bottom of our lows.
We choose how we will spend our days and survive our nights. In a low lit room to lose yourself in the thoughts of someone else, in a low lit room to take comfort in the feel of foreign arms. But what comfort can be given if there really is no comfort to receive? Nameless and faceless, a body to slide beneath them to dull their pain. You pretend to feel warmth rather than what you feel. Cold and clinical, waiting for it to just be over, for him to just go home. To stop showing up at your door with a long list of takes and a non-existent list of gives. You grow weary...
"I am not nothing," you say into the silence. He buckles up his pants and pretends to be sorry. You watch him sit there with nothing to say on your couch, waiting for him to say something other than the same old worn out excuse. But he doesn't hear you and he cannot see you, and you think again how invisible you are when you're not being what he wants.
Shedding your skin like ice melting on a hot summer day, you shake him off showing him the door, closing it behind him, thankful only that he is gone and you are coming back into being yourself once more...
I let go of dreams in singular silence, a sweet exhale of breath that sends dandelion puffs soaring on the wind, scattering seeds, scattering weeds of what remains to make flowers so unwanted by some, and only cherished by few. It is what we make of it I think. The way we feel about something or someone that can take us to the greatest of highs or sink us to the very bottom of our lows.
We choose how we will spend our days and survive our nights. In a low lit room to lose yourself in the thoughts of someone else, in a low lit room to take comfort in the feel of foreign arms. But what comfort can be given if there really is no comfort to receive? Nameless and faceless, a body to slide beneath them to dull their pain. You pretend to feel warmth rather than what you feel. Cold and clinical, waiting for it to just be over, for him to just go home. To stop showing up at your door with a long list of takes and a non-existent list of gives. You grow weary...
"I am not nothing," you say into the silence. He buckles up his pants and pretends to be sorry. You watch him sit there with nothing to say on your couch, waiting for him to say something other than the same old worn out excuse. But he doesn't hear you and he cannot see you, and you think again how invisible you are when you're not being what he wants.
Shedding your skin like ice melting on a hot summer day, you shake him off showing him the door, closing it behind him, thankful only that he is gone and you are coming back into being yourself once more...
My First 5K
When the distance behind you is far greater then the distance in front of you. When your feet feel like lead hitting the pavement. When every second challenges your will to keep moving rather than come to a complete stop. When you're there, in that moment, a number pinned to the front of your shirt, your lungs gasping mightily for air, running with everything that once told you that you can't, that you couldn't, that's the moment when you prove them all wrong. Because you can and you are and you realize that you're not crossing a finish line at all, you're trailblazing new beginnings...
A Matter of Convenience
Cold.
I want to remember this word. Remind myself of it sterility. It's lack of warmth. It's indifference.
I paint myself into a corner.
Knowing better and not taking my own advice.
Drawing my line, crossing my line, not knowing when to maintain the lines I've made.
Enough.
It's time to stop.
I want to remember this word. Remind myself of it sterility. It's lack of warmth. It's indifference.
I paint myself into a corner.
Knowing better and not taking my own advice.
Drawing my line, crossing my line, not knowing when to maintain the lines I've made.
Enough.
It's time to stop.
The New Blue
So I'm thinking kayaking today. If the weather holds that is. And I hate to say it, let alone admit it, but as much as I love the whole paddling down a river thing, I still have yet to completely lose my going to tip over and drown fear.
I haven't a clue why it is the whole kayak on top of water sparks in me such fear. I mean, I do know how to swim and I'm not scared of water which pretty much makes my fear irrational or at least not making as much sense as some fears do.
Maybe I was traumatized as a child. Who am I kidding? Did I just say maybe? I WAS traumatized as a child. And I do remember it clearly. I was in a row boat and I couldn't get back to shore, and everyone on Terra firma was finding my situation highly entertaining while I was in tears on the boat. And yes, there is a picture to prove it and I do believe I've already posted it here. (But of course will do so again to make those responsible for it feel bad about making a Kodak moment out of one that has turned out to pour some rain on my whole like to go kayaking parade.)
And I don't have to wonder why life jackets are constantly on my mind, or why I always insist I go out on the water with more than just myself, or why I don't even trust myself (at least not yet) to take KC out alone without a third and more experienced kayaker with me.
I think eventually I'm going to desensitize myself to feeling all this fear, but for the moment it's a stumbling block on my fun parameter that I just need to slowly paddle through.
Gaining Ground
Years ago I packed up my entire life and moved it miles away from home to a house that never once felt like mine, to live with a man who knew only how to be harsh, critical and unkind. I thought that I could live with my mistake and I tried. I really tried. I spent a year trying to be perfect. To do everything right. To keep the house as clean as I could keep it. To keep my mouth shut and not say a word.
Trying so hard to be something I never really wanted to be took its toll. The first few months after I left, I lived as if I were in the witness protection program. Always hiding, always avoiding any place where we might accidentally meet. Always looking over my shoulder, worrying.
My new home became my refuge. I poured my soul out in many colors on the walls. Arranged my furniture in ways that pleased me and made me smile. And ever so slowly, I began to remember what it was like to feel like me. Unburdened.
I like to think that my home and I needed each other. With every coat of paint, with every improvement I made, I released the potential in us both. I would invite people over, and I would say, if you could have seen it before. And I was so proud to come home at the end of the day to a space that always made me feel like it was welcoming me home.
But now I feel the time is coming once again to make a change. To something more permanent, to something that I can truly call my own. And I think I may have found it, or at least I'm hoping that I have. And though there is a sadness to bring anything that has done me well to a close, I know I've gotten what I came here for.
A brand new heart. A brand new chance. A brand new life.
And I am thankful in ways I am still beginning to know.
Trying so hard to be something I never really wanted to be took its toll. The first few months after I left, I lived as if I were in the witness protection program. Always hiding, always avoiding any place where we might accidentally meet. Always looking over my shoulder, worrying.
My new home became my refuge. I poured my soul out in many colors on the walls. Arranged my furniture in ways that pleased me and made me smile. And ever so slowly, I began to remember what it was like to feel like me. Unburdened.I like to think that my home and I needed each other. With every coat of paint, with every improvement I made, I released the potential in us both. I would invite people over, and I would say, if you could have seen it before. And I was so proud to come home at the end of the day to a space that always made me feel like it was welcoming me home.
But now I feel the time is coming once again to make a change. To something more permanent, to something that I can truly call my own. And I think I may have found it, or at least I'm hoping that I have. And though there is a sadness to bring anything that has done me well to a close, I know I've gotten what I came here for.
A brand new heart. A brand new chance. A brand new life.
And I am thankful in ways I am still beginning to know.
My Shiny New Office
My shiny new office has a window that opens up to the bright blue outside and I am happy, happy, happy...
It won't last long, but for today, it's enough!
It won't last long, but for today, it's enough!
Shedding Some Light
In black and white, statistics are manageable numbers. Easily read, easily forgotten, and easily ignored. It's hard to imagine them as they truly are. A face. A name. Someone real.
The reality is rape is a vicious crime against a person, against a body, against a mind that remembers far longer than any visible scars remain. But we don't talk about it. It makes people uncomfortable. Maybe because they don't know what to say. Maybe because it touches far too close to home. Maybe because no one has ever really told us how to react, how to respond, how to grapple with the complexities of an issue that get confused by the notion that sex and rape are one and the same.
If you ask me, I don't believe the statistics. Given the history of rape and it's propensity to be undocumented and unreported, it seems to me that its tentacles far outreach the numbers given. Maybe they're as close to the truth as we can get without ever being able to know for certain what they really are. But those numbers matter. It reminds us of conversations we need to have with our daughters, our sisters, our mothers, our friends.
Rape affects us all whether we have born witness to its wake, or are among those whose lives miraculously go untouched. We cannot continue to live in a world where it's acceptable to sweep violence against women and children under the rug, away from the public eye. We cannot live in the world where victims of violence bear the weight of shame for a crime they did not commit.
April is Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention month. Get the facts, share them with those you know, don't let this discussion stay in the dark. Every conversation counts, every light matters...
Get help. Get information. Support RAINN
The Restorative Value of Down Time
It's early on a Saturday morning, and save for the noise of a random car passing by, all is quiet. This just might be my favorite time of day. When things feel fresh and new and laid back, as if time is somehow moving slower than it does on any other day of the week.
I'm not hurried. Not feeling rushed. Not racing to get out the door at any certain time for any certain endeavor. I am simply in the moment, relaxed and unhurried, refusing to be hassled by the persistence of life intent on keeping its invisible deadline with its rush, rush, rush mentality.
And it's nice to just simply sit here soaking up this silence. To listen to the stillness and rejoice that for the time being all the things that will eventually need to be done, the housework, the shopping, the gym, all of these things can wait a few minutes more.
There is no rush. No reason to do anything but sip my coffee slowly, think my thoughts and take in the morning as if it were mine and mine alone.
I'm not hurried. Not feeling rushed. Not racing to get out the door at any certain time for any certain endeavor. I am simply in the moment, relaxed and unhurried, refusing to be hassled by the persistence of life intent on keeping its invisible deadline with its rush, rush, rush mentality.
And it's nice to just simply sit here soaking up this silence. To listen to the stillness and rejoice that for the time being all the things that will eventually need to be done, the housework, the shopping, the gym, all of these things can wait a few minutes more.
There is no rush. No reason to do anything but sip my coffee slowly, think my thoughts and take in the morning as if it were mine and mine alone.
