This morning, I heated a mug full of water in the microwave, steeped a green tea bag in it for a few minutes, then added some lemon juice and a little bit of maple syrup. When I looked out the sliding glass doors at my balcony, I could see an orange mum and a tiny pumpkin that will be gifts for someone else. I also could see a yellow mum with burlap wrapped around its pot that will remain on the balcony for the foreseeable future. There’s a pink box that was once filled with cupcakes that were gifted to me but is now empty because all of its contents had been eaten. It balanced on top of a peanut butter jar on the dining room table.
These are imperfect sights, ones that I’m not sure I want to remember, but I am writing them anyway because something about them seems profound.
In many ways, I am my surroundings. I mean this both in the sense that the clutter level around me is usually an indicator of my mental state, and in the sense that I am an amalgamation of everything that I have ever seen or heard or touched or smelled or tasted.
I worry that I’m only truly present when I’m writing. That I just let life pass me by unless I go into the moments with the intention of recording them. I don’t know if that’s a problem or not.
Photo by Karolina Grabowska from Pexels
I strongly relate, Joy.
💞
David
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I’m glad I’m not the only one.
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grounds to force
first course yas
zap pop wow
how didja do it?
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I can see how that could be problematic. But I can also see that a person taking time to pause and reflect on it–even if they have to set that time aside–is still living presently “in the moment.” Seems like the time to worry would be when you couldn’t set any time aside.
For what it’s worth, anyway. There wasn’t a question so feel free to tell me to be quiet 🙂
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I like that perspective, even if I’m not sure I agree with it.
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I don’t think it’s a problem!
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Maybe it’s not
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