Wistful Thinking
John Scalzi writes on his blog today, "It's all beautiful, and nothing lasts." He surrounds it with assurances that this does not spring from any great, impending tragedy, but instead from the recognition that everything is fleeting and that recognizing the beauty in that impermanence is important. And this resonates with me today, in the cool, fall morning, sitting with a lapful of purring cat, and catching my breath for the first time in a week.
I haven't been posting mainly because my tablet, the device I use when I am out and about, inserts carriage returns after every two letters (on posts only, not on comments), and that is frustrating enough not to bother writing to you at all from the outside world. But I am home now on the big computer, and the new day is beautiful, and nothing lasts, so let me tell you, while technology cooperates, how much I appreciate all the slices of lives well lived that LJ affords me glimpses of. I think of each of my flisters warmly and revel in your triumphs, laugh at your wit, empathize with your frustrations, and thoroughly enjoy all the accounts of your ongoing adventures Out There. I comment when I have something to say, but I read as much as I can.
My own adventures continue--auditions and performances and writing and routines, moments of Almost and Oh-By-the-Way, frustrations and little victories and the continuing battles that sometimes feel pointless and occasionally reward, but that most often have to be measured in increments: checking off one more item on the to-do list and finding satisfaction in that. Some days, that is quite enough. Some days, it has to be.
But it is all beautiful, indeed, and none of it lasts. There is comfort in both parts of that concept.
I have to stop typing now and hug the cat while she is still purring and wanting to be hugged. At the moment, she is my surrogate for all of you.
I haven't been posting mainly because my tablet, the device I use when I am out and about, inserts carriage returns after every two letters (on posts only, not on comments), and that is frustrating enough not to bother writing to you at all from the outside world. But I am home now on the big computer, and the new day is beautiful, and nothing lasts, so let me tell you, while technology cooperates, how much I appreciate all the slices of lives well lived that LJ affords me glimpses of. I think of each of my flisters warmly and revel in your triumphs, laugh at your wit, empathize with your frustrations, and thoroughly enjoy all the accounts of your ongoing adventures Out There. I comment when I have something to say, but I read as much as I can.
My own adventures continue--auditions and performances and writing and routines, moments of Almost and Oh-By-the-Way, frustrations and little victories and the continuing battles that sometimes feel pointless and occasionally reward, but that most often have to be measured in increments: checking off one more item on the to-do list and finding satisfaction in that. Some days, that is quite enough. Some days, it has to be.
But it is all beautiful, indeed, and none of it lasts. There is comfort in both parts of that concept.
I have to stop typing now and hug the cat while she is still purring and wanting to be hugged. At the moment, she is my surrogate for all of you.