Tuesday, June 4, 2013
You fed yourself or kept others fed around you. And maybe you did your laundry or cleaned up the house, or sat down and payed your bills or maybe you didn't, but that's okay, you can do that tomorrow. Probably a few things made you pause and for just a moment or two you were captured- the smell of a new conditioner in your hair when you took a shower, or a strawberry, or the way you climbed gratefully into bed at ten o'clock, the pages of the book you kept on turning and turning, or a stranger waved to you from their car or the light streaming in through the blinds reminded you for a second of a trip you once took to Spain.
You won't remember any of these things, they're just tiny little points of light that flash for an instant and then they're gone. They're not important, but tomorrow will bring more, and the next day still more, tiny little sparks of pleasure. When you daydream, you may think of big things like meeting and marrying and holding your new infant, or climbing something tall or skiing something steep, seeing your face in a magazine or kissing your boss who is much older than you, or making ten thousand dollars by selling one photo, or finishing medical school and starting your own private practice or traveling to Haiti or becoming a paramedic, finally, after all those hours.
Chances are you won't think too much about tomorrow's little contentments, and that's why they are so wonderful. They're always a surprise and there are hundreds and hundreds of thousand just waiting, still to come. Just for you. Only yours.
Today I worked a full day, I ate and counted the bruises on my legs that appear like little clouds, the aftermath of a weekend on rocks in a windstorm. I took the dog on a long walk and let her swim and chase things, I called my parents for a few minutes, and did some chores but nothing too difficult, and just in general I stayed out of the way of my own life. So often I have my hand gripped on the steering wheel, trying to control everything, trying to force a confession out of every piece of uncertainty around me.
Not today. This evening as I fed the dog I was about to think 'what a useless day' but I stopped myself. It was a good average normal day. There will be buckets of these. There have been buckets of these. I want to stay out of the way more often, let the elaborate behind the scenes levers and pulleys and plans work away, quiet and invisible and relentless, while I read a book or drink some wine with a friend who already knows everything there is to know about me. I want to be curious but patient, capable and prepared but also trusting that everything is marching along as it should.
So I sit here, scratching the dog with one foot, the dog who is fast asleep on the wood floor, she feels that today was good enough, she knows without thinking that tomorrow will be just what it needs to be.