“Time, time, time is on our side”

Maybe I'm lucky, in that I wouldn't have back my experience of "youth" for the world. Even if that means I have pain in my big toe, in my knees; bifocals and a tendency to say, "Huh?".

I'm lucky that because of my youth, I know that the rain that beats on the roof will eventually stop. And that all this political turmoil will pass, one way or another. And one way or another we move on. Regroup. Grow.

Forgive. I guess.

Of Singing and Selfies

And I think there might be even more to it than that. When we glimpse ourselves in that way, we are unaware that we are seeing ourselves. We are looking objectively at the world (in the best sense), and seeing with the compassionate - or even admiring - eye that we look at others with. When we recognize ourselves, we turn on ourselves. With the conscious "posing" comes the conscious judgement. Or vice versa. We wilt under judgement.

Take Care, Take Care, Take Care

This is why I need running, too. The warrior-poet me moves (and does not think). Like you, she gets out of her head, presses against the earth - gives and takes in a space of quiet. It is time-out from self-analysis, conversation, and the mental struggling I do too often with other people. A rock is a rock, and it has no intention that I feel necessary to root out and interpret. The patch of snow, slick instead of crusty, had no intention to make me fall on my ass. I should probably learn to treat people as I do nature.

The One with the Rat Metaphor

I've seen my dog summon puppy-like energy to chase a toy rat - just until she gets her teeth on the edge of it. Then she realizes it isn't interesting at all, and she goes back, circles a little square foot of floor, and lies down again. Disappointed. I think, not as much in regards to her expectations, but in regard to suckering herself into expectations. She knows it tastes like cardboard and plastic. Not rat.

I’ll Miss Her and She’ll Dreadfully Miss the Cat

Apparently Saunders had described a moment on one of his journeys when he stopped fighting the wind and the cold; when he gave in to the reality of it and felt (not warm, but) a sudden rush of joy.

While I have not crossed the Antarctic - or even braved a bit of it the way you have - I have stood on the top of a mountain above 14,000 feet in biting wind, and experienced that kind of acceptance. And the joy. People say, "suck it up, and get on with it". But that's not it. "Bit i det" they say in Norwegian, but that's not it either. Both of those images involve a kind of bracing, not a relaxing.

A Physical & Metaphysical Sense of Self

When I look down at my hands now I see my grandmother's hands when I held them during church services. It's a strange kind of self-comfort, having her incorporated in my life in such an intimate and physical way.

Although a friend was visiting a few months ago; she saw a photo from the wedding and said, "Oh, your hands don't look that old in reality." To be honest, what I was uncomfortable with was how thin my hair looked in the photo - but now I have yet another thing to be self-conscious about.

On the Question of What to Say

What I truly miss is letter writing. And I miss the long email exchanges of the mid-90s, when my children were small and napping nearby - I could dig deep, take my time to think things through, but still be in conversation with a real person. Both my boys have left home. They are napping in foreign countries these days. So I'm asking myself, why is it I feel rushed now?

The Push & Pull of a Place of Safety

Being busy, being occupied with the ordering of things gives me an illusion of control. Once that flurry of activity is over, the illusion is broken. I feel vulnerable.

I think that is why, content as a I am in so many ways, I have flashes of envy when you share your experiences of arranging your new life. I want to move house again. Which is absurd. Instead: yesterday I decided on a new bookshelf for the living room. So you see, I need a healthy adventure soon.