[2 of 100] On Fullness
It was one of those days where you it the ground running and 14 hours later you come back into your house and put away all the things that you had taken with you when you left in the morning (except for the ones you had given away as gifts and loans, which stayed in other places) and you are so used to the going and the doing and the seeing and the tasting and the feeling that you keep moving, almost without realizing you are doing so, until you think "I have to write my 100 days post" and then you are at your computer at 11:40pm thinking "well, yes, that was A Day."
Unsurprisingly, it wasn't a day that allowed me to do all the things in it that I wanted to. I didn't write some important letters. I didn't candy cranberries. I didn't bake banana bread. I didn't start figuring out my new knitting project. I didn't make my home into the haven of uncluttered peace that I would have perhaps liked to. But why focus on the negatives, the unachieved? I took care of my body by going to ballet and listening to my muscles speak to my bones. I helped my Beloved, in a small way, but still a way that made his day a tiny bit easier. I spent time attending to my spirit and building community. I wore the new sweater I finished yesterday. I knit some more rows on the sock I've been working on, sporadically, for a Very Long Time Now. (Someday I will actually finish it and make the second one, and then I will have socks in the color of deep waters and forests and the sky at twilight, and they will make me happy.) I ate my mother-in-laws amazing food and successfully found my way around the city and hugged people I care about and saw a movie (Slumdog Millionaire) that lifted me up and made me smile. When you live a full life things slip away from you, they brush past the tips of your fingers as you reach for them and you watch them drift into some other time, some other space. On some days that hurts, you wonder why you can't Do It All. You ask for the time-crowbar, the instantaneous teleportation machine, the ability to go without sleep that might allow you to fit in those last few things that seem always to elude you. On other days, days like today, you just look back and smile and say, "today I lived."
Unsurprisingly, it wasn't a day that allowed me to do all the things in it that I wanted to. I didn't write some important letters. I didn't candy cranberries. I didn't bake banana bread. I didn't start figuring out my new knitting project. I didn't make my home into the haven of uncluttered peace that I would have perhaps liked to. But why focus on the negatives, the unachieved? I took care of my body by going to ballet and listening to my muscles speak to my bones. I helped my Beloved, in a small way, but still a way that made his day a tiny bit easier. I spent time attending to my spirit and building community. I wore the new sweater I finished yesterday. I knit some more rows on the sock I've been working on, sporadically, for a Very Long Time Now. (Someday I will actually finish it and make the second one, and then I will have socks in the color of deep waters and forests and the sky at twilight, and they will make me happy.) I ate my mother-in-laws amazing food and successfully found my way around the city and hugged people I care about and saw a movie (Slumdog Millionaire) that lifted me up and made me smile. When you live a full life things slip away from you, they brush past the tips of your fingers as you reach for them and you watch them drift into some other time, some other space. On some days that hurts, you wonder why you can't Do It All. You ask for the time-crowbar, the instantaneous teleportation machine, the ability to go without sleep that might allow you to fit in those last few things that seem always to elude you. On other days, days like today, you just look back and smile and say, "today I lived."