There’s never been another moment like this particular one, and never will be again. – Leo Babuta
Walt Whitman said: “Every moment of light and dark is a miracle”, but oh how easy it is to simply see them as day and night — the dividers that decide what is work time and what is sleeping time. The way-points on the road to the weekend. Over and over and over.
The last few years have simply been a melange of head down, bum up, working to re-establish myself after a life rearrangement. Limping from weekend to weekend. Focussing on making sure there’s a roof over my head and food on the table for my sons who come and go as part of the co-parenting thing. I have had moments of joy of course, and have made time for art as a type of therapy and extra income, but yet the weeks have run into one another and sometimes I feel as though I am merely existing in a liminal space. Waiting to be restored. Time needed to pass and do it’s thing. Years of healing and rebuilding. Now, finally, I am beginning to feel a clear sensation of lightness starting to wrap her arms around me, accompanied by a prompting that it is time to spread my wings. The dark cloud has started to lift.
I am breaking out of the cocoon that constrained, hid and silenced me for the first half of life. I am coming out of the shadows and entering the afternoon of my life — I am less than two years off turning 50, and the notion excites me. I may change my mind when I get closer mind you, but for the moment the air is crackling with a sense of anticipation and endless possibilities for the first time in more years than I care to count. I feel as though I am finally starting to be me, on my own terms.
I am beholden to no-one. To paraphrase Dr Seuss: the ones that matter take me as I am, and encourage me to soar; the ones that don’t care to take me as I am, do not matter in the slightest.
So, at the behest of Mr Whitman…I need to teach myself to take the time to appreciate the miracles inherent in the moments of light and dark in each day, both literally and figuratively, rather than limping from Friday to Friday. Only seeing the beige-ness of hours spent in this city, in an overcrowded office, hot car or similarly overcrowded gym. I need to learn — again, like I did as a child — how to notice the little moments of wonder that happen around me, and in me. If I don’t see them the first time round, I may never have the opportunity to do so again.
Memento Mori – remember death.
I need to step out of what has become routine and comfortable, if boring, these past few years. It is time for me to fly. I may not get the chance if I waver.
You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. What you’ll discover will be wonderful. What you will discover is yourself. – Alan Alda
Artwork by me.