I’m sitting by the lake right now on a bench made of three boards that are unevenly placed so it’s not quite comfortable, I keep having to adjust every few minutes. I wonder if the other side of the bench is more comfortable, I wonder if I will find out. Two people on this bench could have very different experiences and not know it.
People are running by, huffing, and making that face of horrified discomfort runners make, that face that leaves you questioning why people enjoy running. Other folks are walking by, talking with friends. I hear snippets of conversations, and they make me smirk in amusement. I enjoy people at this distance. I enjoy hearing the way they put emphasis on certain things, exaggerating the drama. I enjoy seeing their puppies, even though I would never want a dog. I enjoy the parents with the little ones, the family playing “I spy...” with the little girl that says I see something green, which is everything out here right now. And she means grass. Which is the first thing her older sister shouts. I enjoy people’s outfits, the colorful masks people wear, how they have found ways to enjoy and flaunt, even during a pandemic, people are inherently resilient. It’s wonderful. I enjoy the little signs, the strange earrings, the tattoo that seems out of place, the socks in sandals.
I like hearing the different accents, like how you can tell a girl is from the suburbs before you see her, or you can tell which of the older couples lives on the lake (rich houses) because they sound so simultaneously comfortable and sure of themselves.
The lake smells of lake scum. Plant life being mulched by itself. The breeze is sometimes refreshing, and sometimes a little nauseating. People walk by with coconut scented sunscreen, and body odor, and the dogs smell like they need baths, and pant like their mouths are as sticky as mine - which is stained with rich coffee, and dehydration, and worry about people that I cannot help, because they are no longer with us.
I have my head phones in, but I’m not listening to music. Sometimes I do this when I want to overhear stuff. Like the couple speaking Spanish behind me, their words sound like the melody, the rhythm is their plastic kayaks thumping along as they drag them to the water. (Update, later the guy actually started singing to her, as their kayaks drifted next to each other 100 feet from the shore.)
In my head I am listening to “way down Hadestown.” A song from a musical I am in love with, because it talks about the choice we make in life to live in fear OR to choose the way it could be, and how humanity is still choosing(tragically), and also still telling this story in the hopes that even after thousands of years, some day, we might choose differently.
There is a bench 100 yards from me where I saw a local hip hop artist sitting on her lap top a few weeks ago. Sometimes I imagine that I will be listening to her as I walk by her, and just point to her and then my headphones and smile. I never talk to her because she looks very lost in her own thoughts, so I smirk in amusement as I am lost in mine.
There is a particular bench on this lake, where I took an ex once. And I suppose this is the definition of kissing and telling, so I won’t allude to any further details. Except that now, I picture her there each time I walk by and wonder where she is in the world, sometimes worrying I will see her out of the blue, and sometimes wishing I would.
I am reading a book called “the universe has your back” and finding it to be that mix of hopeful and stupid, that a lot of the books I read tend to be. I have fallen asleep reading this book a lot lately. It’s a mix of trying to read right after work - and the fact that it isn’t anything new, just a different writer reminding me of truths and helpful lies. Like meditation will reconnect you to your highest self, and the universe is always working in your favor, and manifesting works and... not even one mention of the privilege of being a wealthy white educated person in the most powerful nation in history.
A spider walks by, and I become uneasy. I know it means me no harm, and I am instinctually itching at the invisible regardless.
I am made aware again that I slept in too late, that I have not been sleeping well, that my body aches for no particular reason. I stretch, I press at the muscles, I wish for a massage and take a break to look up a massage therapist, then don’t make the appointment.
“I step back and let the universe lead the way.” The book reminds me. I stare at this lake, this microcosm: the surface nearby is covered in green and yellow lily pads, their waxy leaves reflecting the glare of the sun. A half dozen white flowers blooming palms-open to the sky. They are scattered about and look like steps along the path. And the path leads to open water, glistening blue in reflection of the sky, and further out the green of the trees on the island across the way. People lazily paddling through in bright little canoes and kayaks. The occasional ab work out on a paddle board, a god stoically standing on the water.
Above the waxy green lilies, a thousand flying things, unnoticeable until you watch them dance, watch them chase, watch them glide through life unaware that they are being noticed at all. Perched for a moment, resting they take in the scene, the open sky above, the billion things below the surface of the brownish stagnant water, where another ecosystem thrives, equally part of the larger whole and also a universe unto themselves.
I take it in, and I am overwhelmed. A new ache in my chest, a pull, a desire to tighten up. Like Arjuna I see, and I am terrified, wondering where my place is in this. This...
I take a breath.
I open myself up with a stretch.
I wonder where I should put what time I have left.
Teenagers laugh a dozen yards away as they take pictures of each other for their social media accounts, openly chatting about making it look more exciting than it is. They break me of my spell. A helicopter flies over seemingly for no particular reason. Two fat and ugly pug nosed dogs noodle by, lapping for air.
A little Somali girl in a diaper and her mother stop in front of me while she grabs for her apple juice, she displaces her collection of acorns and pine cones from the stroller, her mom diligently picks them up, knowing it will make her joyful in this particular moment and that they will be tossed out later when they no longer serve. I think that might be the right lesson this morning, but I am acutely aware that I have a hard time letting some things go. I have to remind myself that it is just an inhale and an exhale. Something we do all the time, something that happens naturally if you allow it.
But I catch myself on a caught breath, stuck in old patterns, and decide I need more practice inviting new air into my life, and letting go of the old.
I guess it’s time to get up and move a bit.
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