Perhaps I should lay some ground rules for myself in keeping a blog. I think it’s important to commit to some sort of regimen – not that I’m giving up on living spontaneously – but if I don’t set out a plan for this particular venture, I might forget some of the lessons or moments that I want to remember or, worse yet, allow myself to slip back into old habits without any sort of accountability. So here it goes: Weekends – at least twice – and weekdays when my heart is moved or my day allows. It’s not much, but it’s a start.
Do you ever get the feeling that you will look back on a particular time in life with a somber fondness? Each day lately has at some point felt very… intentional. I don’t know how else to explain it. I don’t even mean to say that everything that has happened has happened because I have purposefully led it that way – because that would be far from the truth. But I do believe that there is a reason I find myself right here at this point in my life.
My aunt and I went on a walk yesterday morning. The weather – cloudy and a little misty – had gotten the better of her and we began talking about how much sunlight (or the lack thereof) affects our attitude. I suggested going for a walk so we put on our shoes, sweatshirts, gloves, and coats and took a stroll around the neighborhood. She knows so much history about her neighbors and the area. I think it’s fascinating to listen to someone reminisce about (his/)her past. It’s almost as if she finds the joy of discovering a place all over again by recalling details that she forgot she still remembers. I love listening to people recount situations or times in their lives.
I was telling my mom the other day that I felt suddenly overwhelmed with a sinking feeling that I lack anything interesting to say because I always find myself listening and rarely talking – but I think, in all honesty, I just really enjoy listening. I think we all need the opportunity to remember things that we hoped for or were excited over or dreamed of. And it’s contagious. When people get going, they often stop conversing with you and begin conversing with themselves or their past; it’s a captivating transition and always prompts me to look into my own past for forgotten excitements/hopes/dreams. I think a lot of times we’re all so excited to share our own stories that we miss those moments…
Hmph… now that I’ve written it, I feel compelled to erase it; the thing about this experience is that it takes one person to talk and the other to listen – so please don’t come to me with the intention of listening, having read this, because we will both walk away feeling sorely disappointed.
However, if you’re inclined to read – I could write all day. Why write what you often won’t hear me say? Some people think it’s brave to write – braver than speaking – but I think that’s all wrong. I could go into how much easier it is to backspace than take back what I might say but it’s not really about filtering. In fact – if you have the desire to get to know me, you will most likely learn more here – in a shorter span of time – than you would in person. I suppose that may or may not be true but the truth is, I could write all day because I am under the belief that a lot of people simply won’t read what I write. Here’s a scenario: You’re in a situation where you want to be completely, unabashedly honest with someone but you know the timing is wrong or the words won’t be received the way you want. You get the opportunity to “pause” and say whatever you need to say and when you press “play,” you continue on without any reaction from the other person but this weight is lifted from you. That’s writing for me.
I have a recent obsession with James Morrison. The song choice today may become one of those somber fondness melodies – the kind of somber fondness that makes you want to crank the radio, turn down the windows, with a smile on your face, and sing at the top of your lungs. So perhaps a little less somber and a little more fondness. Regardless – it’s worth listening to. On repeat. Several times. “Precious Love” James Morrison
Did I mention I saw six deer walking through the neighborhood while on my walk with my aunt? Lovely.
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