A late night listening to the rain fall after curling up on Tracie's couch to talk of depression and how to get unstuck, how we begin to believe that pursuing a life of passion and engagement is impractical. I've been feeling lonely lately and at the same time in need of vast spaces of quiet. I've been retreating into studying Spanish and visiting my parent's home to spend time sitting with them or running errands, drinking coffee, walking around the yard to spot the budding crocuses & daffodils with mom, or curled up in my childhood bedroom reading old journals.
Reading Anthony Doerr's exquisite short stories...
“To consider water on any scale was to confront a boundless repetition of small events. There were the tiny wonders: rain drops, snow crystals, grains of frost aligned on a blade of grass; and there were the wonders so immense it seemed impossible to get his mind around them: global wind, oceanic currents, storms that broke like waves over whole mountain ranges."
I'm reminded of how much I have to be grateful for, how much leaves me dizzy with euphoria or nostalgia and the luminescent unnamed degrees of joy the heart buzzes in and out of.
A student told me Wednesday, "This is the best day I've ever had." The smallest things-- unusually warm days, blue painted houses, neighborhood playgrounds. That evening Claire, Amelia, and I shot hoops on the abandoned courts, scaled the jungle gym, and embarrassed ourselves trying to do pull-ups. Playing is a thing that helps me remember myself, exerting energy into the world, saying yes to "Ms. Meg can we play the stew pot game." I am constantly learning to go slower, to re-engage my imagination, to never tire of chalk on sidewalks, or lying in a sunbeam, or turning a cartwheel in the grass-- to never tire of being amazed.
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