I left the house today in the most dour mood. More accurately, I woke up in the most dour mood. And it didn’t start today.
I opted to work this week, in the sleepy, liminal space between Christmas and New Year’s. (Enter Greek chorus singing, “What was she thinking?”) (Enter me nodding “I know, I know”). I figured since we weren’t going out of town for the holidays, I might as well make hay while the sun shines. Or something to that effect.
Well, it turns out that “making hay while the sun shines” in late December translates to “being the only person working while the entire city is under blankets, in their homes, where I most definitely ought to be”. (See aforementioned “dour” “mood”).
I woke up today totally bitter about the situation I had put myself in, feeling unfairly jealous of Jas for his staying home / reading Ian McEwan novels / eating stöllen. I was feeling lonely.
I huffed my way out of bed, into the shower, into jeans, into Sorels, into the snow.
In a move of habit and/or desperation, I cued up a podcast and planned to use it as a distractive balm from my grumpiness and regret. I was going to listen to Glennon Doyle talk about friendship and I was going to feel better, dammit! But listening to the uppity intro music while the snow fell around me, the lone traveler on the walking path, felt wrong. It felt dirty somehow, to sully this moment with talking or distraction.
I did what I so seldom do but often espouse: I took my headphones out. They dangled around my neck like a stethoscope and, incidentally, I did notice my heart beat. I didn’t plan to necessarily, but I ended up walking the whole 45 minutes to work with no distraction. And wouldn’t you know it … something shifted.
Rather than being annoyed at being the only one out, I felt awed by the quiet. I surprised myself by feeling supremely lucky to be alone in the snowfall. To get to feel the crisp crunch of snow underfoot. To experience the fun “ooop!” of sliding on hidden ice. To hear the sawmill doing its work. To pause and see ice forming, in waves, lap by lap, in the middle of the mighty Wolastoq river. To almost hear it.
Will this be my new daily practice, this mindful time? I told myself that it would, but I know that it won’t. I will inevitably return to my ritual of racing to work while listening to The Daily or another buzzy podcast. I will text as I go, or talk to my mom on the phone, or something else. I will miss moments like these. The sawmill will do its business unnoticed, for the eight thousandth day in a row. The river will freeze and unfreeze, as I ignore it.
I have a habit of doing good things, and I have a habit of forgetting to do them again. But: today was a shift from feeling luck-less to being luck-filled, and for that I am grateful.
May I look up more often, to make the time for a sacred shift to happen. To be gentle with myself when I fall back, when I forget. To remember that none of this is going anywhere; it will be there when I am ready to take it in. It will be ready again, and again, and again. What a thing it is to be alive. To notice.
Your friend,
Joce
PS - I am shifting the format of the Gatorade Moon digital zine/newsletter/space a bit, allowing it to be more loose. I have enjoyed the rigour of structure, but am in a season of shuffle-energy right now and am looking forward to playing in this space in a new way. Thanks for tagging along.
Bonus PS - This song by Bibio graced my algorithm and has been on repeat in my head and heart for days. That violin riff … oof. A wintry feeling.
To see within is to feel without a light.
to create space for the sacred shifts !!!! now if that isn't a resolution worth resolving, i don't know what is.
glad to read gatorade moon no matter what format/unformat you choose <3
<3