Tag Archives: kind of serious

A Moment in the Sun

We were lucky that Easter Sunday this year was picturesque in terms of weather. For the first time since October we reached 70 degrees and had sun, something we could only fantasize about during the harshest winter in history.

I took advantage of the opportunity and spent part of the afternoon working outside before sitting in the sun on my deck, listening to the ballgame on the radio and watching the squirrels perform Cirque du Soleil moves on my half-empty feeder.

squirrel

As I sat there, I remembered scraping the ice off my windshield on those subzero mornings, driving 20 mph to work on icy roads and shoveling feet of snow. At that time, all I could think about was a) where I could move and b) how much I would appreciate days like we were having that day—warm, sunny and safe—if the frozen ground ever thawed.

But then eyes closed, sprawled out in a chair like an albino lizard on a heat rock, I found my mind going right back into my routinely obsessive thoughts on work, money, food, writer’s block, exercise, what I “should” be doing that day and in life, etc.

That moment in the sun with no obligations had suddenly turned into the storm in my head that so often clouds up my mind. And in some ways I was more present in the middle of winter fantasizing about the warmer weather than I was present in that moment actually sitting in the warmer weather.

It was then I overheard the neighbor kids say, “Poke it and see if it’s dead.”

 At first I thought they meant me, but since it came from the other side of the fence I assumed it was a small woodland creature. And while I’m sorry it took it’s probable demise to  bring me back to the present moment, I’m kind of glad that it did.

Because I do this all the time.

Part of me gets excited for or works towards something, and then when it happens I’m already moving on, dismissing it as something to check off a list instead of enjoying that moment. I don’t feel accomplished or calm, but rather wonder, “Okay, what’s next?”

It’s easy to fall into that trap in today’s society of “more, more, more.” Sitting around reading or listening to the ballgame isn’t always as “admirable” as doing, doing, doing all the time. There’s that constant need to know just what is next.

But as one warm day in the sun reminded me, I don’t have to fall into that trap.

I can choose where to place my attention and my intention by saying “yes” to a moment and “no” to worrying about that next thing all the time. If my mind would get out of my way, maybe I could relax and remember this more.

After all, the temps are back in the 40s with rain this week—Mother Nature is a cruel, cruel shrew at times—which proves how fast moments can pass.

Just ask the critter cadaver next door.

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Breaking Through

“I was tied, but now unbound. My head is off the ground.”

I don’t have a lot of people that I’m close to, much more by choice than by chance. This wasn’t always the case, but after getting burned and disappointed one too many times, I built up walls and distractions to steel myself against ever feeling that way again.

“For a long time I was so weary. Tired of the sound, I’ve heard before. The gnawing of the night time at the door.”

But the thing about emotional walls is that they also keep you from feeling just about anything except numb. I’m okay with this most of the time, or at least I think I am until something happens and I’m reminded that while I can be okay with this, that doesn’t mean I have to be.

“Haunted by the things I’ve made. Stuck between the burning light and the dust shade.”

A good friend sent me a CD of some of her favorite music. I popped it in my truck on the way home and brick by brick, with each of the 12 simple tracks on the disc, the whole damn wall came crashing down.

“I said now I used to think the past was dead and gone. But I was wrong, so wrong, whatever makes you blind must make you strong.”

I pulled into my driveway and sat parked with the engine off and the music on. As I watched the squirrels hop from tree to tree, I did something I rarely ever do. I quit fighting it.

And cried.

“In my time I’ve melted into many forms. From the day that I was born, I know that there’s no place to hide.”

I’m not quite sure what “it” was that I was fighting. Not sadness over anything in particular, but rather a culmination of stress, of love, of loss…of life. Without distracting myself in an effort to feel, well, anything, I started to feel everything.

“Stuck between the burning shade and the fading light.”

There are times I worry so much about liking someone or something too much and having it taken away that I default to feeling too little or nothing at all.

I forget that most of the people that like me did so before I started trying to make sure it stayed that way, before I worried about what I said or did.

“Well you walk these lonely streets that people send. There are some wounds that just can’t mend.”

I forget that yes, I can be okay alone within the safety of my walls, but that doesn’t mean I have to be.  And while I know these revelations are usually fleeting,  it’s nice to have a reminder that I can feel emotion without feeling like I’m weak or broken. 

“I am free from all the things that take my friends. But I will stand hear till the end.”

That by opening up to people and showing vulnerability—to even just one person—I can gain so much more in the end. If I choose to, I can feel, well, everything.

“I was broken, for a long time, but It’s over now.”

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This rare display of emotion coincided nicely with the Studio30 Plus prompt this week:

It wasn’t what I expected.