thoughts over reheated barbecued jerk chicken and baby vegetables.
The silence just began. Once a month, I have an afternoon (two hours, at least) of uninterupted silence, as the Board of Directors and Management sit in another room and make decisions that affect others. They are especially energetic today, and they've shown up in droves. The CEO is leaving because her husband is dying. This is going to be a long week. Her last day is Friday, but she gave her notice three months ago. She's acting antsy, and no one seems to know what to say. Everything is thinly veiled and steeped in an odd combination of awkwardness and sadness.
While they discuss the huge deficit that fundraising will never fill, and the fact that staff turnover is at 40%, I eat my leftover lukewarm chicken (there was a line for the microwave), and I think about life and all of the funny things that people do.
I've decided that my chicken is a little dry, but it's lunch and a chicken breast is a fine choice for my lean protein needs. After a weekend of innapropriate calorie intake, my body is craving the necessities, and my swollen fingers are upset about the glasses of wine that slipped through my lips.
I have boot camp this afternoon. I'm starting to crave the physical exertion. Every week I go a little farther and push myself a little harder. My muscles are getting stronger. As my feet hit the ground, one in front of the other, faster faster faster, I turn inward. What begins as distraction - something to take my mind off of everything else - becomes all-encompasing. I am each step. I am my pounding heart and my quivering muscles and my breath.
I'm starting to understand what is at the core of everything, and it's prompting me to make promises to the Earth, and to myself. I don't want to consume for the sake of consumption. Well, not often, at least. I have a hard time understanding the desire to pay $60 for a shirt, even if it is really beautiful and really soft and all of the other things that $60 shirts should be. It's sort of like taking a job where you know you'll be underpaid - it sets the standard and tells people that it's okay. It's not okay.
I moved my plants outside this weekend. I nurtured them indoors for eight months, but they needed more room than I could offer. I woke up too early this morning, listening to the wind and worrying about the plants. We can only do so much, and then it's out of our control.
While they discuss the huge deficit that fundraising will never fill, and the fact that staff turnover is at 40%, I eat my leftover lukewarm chicken (there was a line for the microwave), and I think about life and all of the funny things that people do.
I've decided that my chicken is a little dry, but it's lunch and a chicken breast is a fine choice for my lean protein needs. After a weekend of innapropriate calorie intake, my body is craving the necessities, and my swollen fingers are upset about the glasses of wine that slipped through my lips.
I have boot camp this afternoon. I'm starting to crave the physical exertion. Every week I go a little farther and push myself a little harder. My muscles are getting stronger. As my feet hit the ground, one in front of the other, faster faster faster, I turn inward. What begins as distraction - something to take my mind off of everything else - becomes all-encompasing. I am each step. I am my pounding heart and my quivering muscles and my breath.
I'm starting to understand what is at the core of everything, and it's prompting me to make promises to the Earth, and to myself. I don't want to consume for the sake of consumption. Well, not often, at least. I have a hard time understanding the desire to pay $60 for a shirt, even if it is really beautiful and really soft and all of the other things that $60 shirts should be. It's sort of like taking a job where you know you'll be underpaid - it sets the standard and tells people that it's okay. It's not okay.
I moved my plants outside this weekend. I nurtured them indoors for eight months, but they needed more room than I could offer. I woke up too early this morning, listening to the wind and worrying about the plants. We can only do so much, and then it's out of our control.