I am sick. My body is trying to give me the gift of a slower pace. And I’m accepting it. To alleviate discomfort I’ve pulled out the neti pot and the willow/garlic ear oil and am sucking on herbal vitamin C drops… and primarily I’ve allowed myself to slow down.
It’s really not the ideal time to slow down. I have one week left in my contract with former employer and several hours worth of work to do. I am moving to a new home in 11 days and haven’t packed a single box nor hired a moving company. I am done fighting with BFO, but not because the issue of childcare and money and visitation has been resolved… just because I realized that I am not a fighter so I stopped fighting and started loving instead (it feels much better). Oh, and I still have a normal day job and a child to tend to.
I could pump my body full of dayquil and caffeine and go about my business trying to postpone this head cold for a more convenient time, but after at least 6 weeks of not watching a single television program without also doing something else at the same time: working, cooking, cleaning house, trying to go to sleep… I really enjoyed just lying on the couch and watching a full episode of So You Think You Can Dance in one sitting.
So, I’ve given in to the slower pace and in it I’ve found something lovely. I think it’s peace.
|the rug. it and me are both enough.
On Saturday The Angry Wombat and I went up to LA to get the keys for my new home and took a few things from the old house with us. While we were there we found a cool red velvet couch at a yard sale next door and a red (and orange and purple) shag rug at IKEA. We went out to lunch and puttered around the neighborhood doing nothing in particular. We came back and set up the fish tank and brought the plants out to their new home on the balcony.
On Sunday when I returned to feed the fish and water the plants I took a book, takeout channa masala, and water with me. And I stayed for four hours. No internet. No TV. No talking. Just me and chickpeas and the fish and the plants and the new rug and the balcony and the sunshine and the fresh air and a book that I didn’t end up opening.
After eating, as I was lying on the rug staring out the sliding glass door I realized that I had no desire to go back to the old house.
I used to LOVE moving. Especially the packing/unpacking part. I loved the feeling of accomplishment and security that came from neatly packing and labeling each box with its destination and contents. And I was often so far ahead in packing that by the time I moved and began the process of unpacking I had forgotten about my own possessions and it was like shopping in my boxes with something new in each package! As a Taurus (or maybe just as myself) I love things. I like to see them, touch them, collect them, get attached to them. I appreciate beauty and I love my stuff.
So, I’m lying there… searching for that old feeling, not seeing it anywhere, and wondering if it will return when my ears stop aching and then I realized something. The things I brought from the old house were living things: the plants and the fish. And with the exception of Spiderman (who I would pick up from BFO that evening) nothing was missing. If I had been given the opportunity to start living there right that minute and in exchange I would have to give up on all of the possessions left behind at the old house… I would have taken it. Gladly.
And it felt so freeing. Moving from a 1600 square foot house into a 600 square foot apartment without the luxuries of water and ice in the fridge door or my own inside laundry was something I told myself I would be able to do if I could value living the simple life. I’m not sure if I really believed that though… I just said it to myself a lot.
Apparently, often enough, because in my tiny, simple apartment with myself and the other living creatures in my life close by (or at least in my heart), I felt complete.
And I lied there (there was a lot of lying down this weekend) and thought, this is what it feels like to be different… I did it. Cool.