Sitting on the balcony in a broken chair, facing east, into the sun, cool breeze, traffic sounds, a dog barking, radio chatter, men across the street moving things with yelling and laughing, birds telling stories.
I need to shower, start laundry, do chores, start work, get the day moving forward. Where is the pause button? I’m competent and I can do so much but I don’t want so much to do. I want to sit here longer, to move unhurried, to glide, to breathe, to be ordered but not scheduled, to release into reverie, to let my mind wander, my shoulders loosen, my being melt and flow with curiosity, delight, warmth, ease.
How does urgency take over so quickly?
Yes to anticipation. Yes to exhilaration.
No to the clamping anxiety, the stifling breath, the hot weight, the pattering prickling uncertainty, the fear, the grasping, the tension.
How can I learn to be sure of myself in a world that is so terrifying and uncertain and full of indifference? Cruelty piles upon cruelty. I do not how to stop any of it. I am so small.
As for myself, I live mostly in kindness now. I can afford to. I have been lucky my whole life, even in the worst of it. Even in the worst of it, there has been love and a measure of safety. Think about how rare that is. Think about it. I have never huddled on a street corner in the dark. I have never been left for dead. I have never cowered over my children under a bomb-streaked sky. I have never been more than a phone call away from help. I have never had to make an impossible choice. Difficult choices, yes. But nothing impossible.
My tragedies are real but I have been privileged to meet them all with a measure of comfort, and that changes all the options.
Even now, I sit in comfort. Clean clothes, hot coffee, sun on my face, a home to walk into, food in my kitchen, clean water, a soft bed. And love. Love, love, love, love, love. There are things to do but they’ll wait a bit. Challenges to face, always, but also resources and support to help me face them.
Maybe the antidote to urgency is not that complicated. Maybe all it requires right now is recognition of all I’ve been given. Just to see it, to pause, to look: Here’s what I have. Not as much as I want, often. But all the important things are here, right now, today, mine. How is that possible? And what have I done to deserve it? Nothing. Nothing at all. I was born, and many choices were made for me, and then it was my turn and I made the choices that seemed best in each moment. Some of them were good, some were not.
This is what we’re all doing.
How I choose to go forward from this moment: with care, with deliberation, with delight. With love, with thought, with honesty. With adequate attention paid to my own needs. With boldness. With thanks and praise and absolute acceptance. With a strong sense of myself. With enthusiasm, with utter nonsense, with clarity, without overthinking, with my own meaning, without any idea what I’m doing, with the river dancing on the rocks, with the mountains and the hills as they break forth into singing.