It’s the kind of day on which great songs are written. The windows frame an inspiring scene –tall pines dusted in lace, a backdrop of for heavy white snowflakes that float leisurely without purpose.
Snippets of prose land momentarily and then disappear just as quickly, avoiding capture. So many thoughts, ideas, positions vying for attention, a place on the page. But the chaos only paralyzes, and I choose to let the forces that be make the final cut.
It’s January second and as per usual, I have procrastinated, not in reflecting on the year past and my current state of being, but rather, in giving them form. Can there be such a thing as too much inspiration? I suspect that my long absence from writing has created a bottleneck, better known as writer’s block.
The dog sits impatiently at my feet in the hopes that I will tug at his toy or at least show some interest in play. The banging coming from my upstairs living room has me wondering if hubby is chopping down our tree rather than removing it. Grunts and groans and refusals of assistance are muffled by the soft strains of John Denver. We have successfully deconstructed the adornments of Christmas and the house is returned to casual attire.
I sit in front of a fireplace that will be crackling by mid-afternoon. I gaze out at the symphony of peace and dreamlike tranquility that only nature can deliver. I breath it in, struggling to stay present, still, after more than six years of this ethereal beauty, I can barely believe this is my reality. I wonder how many more sleeps, famjams and fires we will enjoy here.
String of Pearls
I have lived a life in which all my dreams have come true. I have enjoyed all of the wonderful experiences that my mind’s eye and imagination could conjure. For years we balanced a seaside condo with the blazing sunset framed perfectly by our front window, sharing this wonder with friends and family, providing tropical vacations where there may not have otherwise been. We released that dream to fulfill another – a large boat that could hold our entire family. The boat was our sanctuary, serving as our floating place of peace. Falling asleep to rhythmic lapping of waves on the stern and the creaking of rubbing lines on the dock and awaking to the song of seagulls and the gently tolling of sailboat bells was our respite from our frenetic city lives. Over the years, the boat gave way for a humble lakeside cabin. Again, my version of paradise shifted and we spent six summers perched high in the trees, gazing at the magnificent vista and swimming in fresh clean water. When it was time to try our hand at country living, we let go of our cabin to create a natural swimming pond on five acres of history.
There was a time in which I thought each of these fulfilled dreams would be accumulated like a lifetime string of pearls but my mother was right – we can have it all, but maybe not all at the same time. I’ve had to release and let go to make space for the next. Dream it. Live it. Release. Repeat. And so it is the memories of these experiences that are my pearls that create my lifetime monument and not the material accumulates.
And I thought I didn’t have anything to write about.