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We Only Ever Have Right Now
16 years ago
Welcome to The Sideshow
The weekend has arrived!
I must say that I am in much better spirits than I was at the start of this week.
A local friend helped me out in a big way, and has potentially removed a huge burden from my shoulders. She even invited me over for dinner and sent me home with potato soup to last me for a few days ... and bread products, homemade apple butter, rice made with chicken stock and baby carrots. Having a friend like her is like one of the best things ever.
Today has been laid back and relaxed. I stopped at the library to pick up some drawing books that were on reserve and bought some basic sketching supplies at the discount shop. I've always wanted to learn how to draw well, but never invested a lot of time in polishing my skills. Recently those yearnings have returned and I have to hope that I inherited at least some of the same artistic genes that were passed down from my father to my sister. The pencils and tools that I bought today are probably pretty poor quality, but I didn't spend a lot on them either - I figure there's no point until and unless the bug hits me and I really get into it.
I've been spending a lot of time worrying lately. As my health is not optimal at present, I realize that depression and stress can only serve to make some things even worse. As I was taking my beginner's art supplies to the register, though, I had one of those flickering moments of enlightenment. Mine was, "We only ever really have right now." And that's so true. I spend so much time worrying about what the future has in store, and what's to come and how am I going to make it to this milestone or that milestone on the Timeline of Things Yet to Come. As trite as it sounds, that country song "Live Like You Were Dying" has a lot of wisdom in it. Not every moment of our lives will be filled with happiness, but all we can do is attempt to make the very best of this moment. Right now. Don't put off trying that thing that you've always wanted to try until tomorrow, or next month, or next year. Sure, maybe some things might be out of your reach financially, but some things are as simple as learning how to knit, or how to cook, or how to draw. Or taking walks for pleasure. Or loving yourself, in whatever way you've been depriving yourself until now.
One of my favorite film scenes of all time is in the French film "Amelie" - a film that I implore you rent and watch tonight if you haven't ever seen it. At the start of the film, we are introduced to the little things that bring pleasure in Amelie's life - one of them being when she sinks her hand into a barrel of dry lentils in an outdoor market and the camera cuts to her face and she's glowing with happiness. What brings you that kind of simple happiness? For me, I suppose it's that first indulgent cup of Douwe-Egberts coffee in the morning, laced with a dab of unsweetened cocoa almond milk. Or pressing snooze on my phone for another five minutes when it sings to me to wake up.
And crying. Crying is a guilty pleasure of mine. One of the greatest abuses that society has heaped upon young boys and men is telling them that tears are a sign of weakness. My father was guilty of that as well - but he was also guilty of trying to push me through a square hole of "normalcy" that I passively resisted, which was such bollocks because he spent his own life bucking against the strictures of "normal" society. Ironically, those qualities were what I admired most about him - but they seemed to be the things that society had convinced him to be ashamed of in himself. I don't think I ever saw my father cry. That breaks my heart. A man who is not intimately in touch with his own feelings and his own emotions is spiritually disabled. I'm not saying that one should spend a lifetime sobbing. But sometimes it's necessary.
If there is one piece of advice that I could give to those of my biological predisposition ... it's "Cry, damn you. Your legs will be stronger for the time you spend on your knees, and your soul is so much deeper than you allow it to be. Tears are wiper fluid for the soul."
I must say that I am in much better spirits than I was at the start of this week.
A local friend helped me out in a big way, and has potentially removed a huge burden from my shoulders. She even invited me over for dinner and sent me home with potato soup to last me for a few days ... and bread products, homemade apple butter, rice made with chicken stock and baby carrots. Having a friend like her is like one of the best things ever.
Today has been laid back and relaxed. I stopped at the library to pick up some drawing books that were on reserve and bought some basic sketching supplies at the discount shop. I've always wanted to learn how to draw well, but never invested a lot of time in polishing my skills. Recently those yearnings have returned and I have to hope that I inherited at least some of the same artistic genes that were passed down from my father to my sister. The pencils and tools that I bought today are probably pretty poor quality, but I didn't spend a lot on them either - I figure there's no point until and unless the bug hits me and I really get into it.
I've been spending a lot of time worrying lately. As my health is not optimal at present, I realize that depression and stress can only serve to make some things even worse. As I was taking my beginner's art supplies to the register, though, I had one of those flickering moments of enlightenment. Mine was, "We only ever really have right now." And that's so true. I spend so much time worrying about what the future has in store, and what's to come and how am I going to make it to this milestone or that milestone on the Timeline of Things Yet to Come. As trite as it sounds, that country song "Live Like You Were Dying" has a lot of wisdom in it. Not every moment of our lives will be filled with happiness, but all we can do is attempt to make the very best of this moment. Right now. Don't put off trying that thing that you've always wanted to try until tomorrow, or next month, or next year. Sure, maybe some things might be out of your reach financially, but some things are as simple as learning how to knit, or how to cook, or how to draw. Or taking walks for pleasure. Or loving yourself, in whatever way you've been depriving yourself until now.
One of my favorite film scenes of all time is in the French film "Amelie" - a film that I implore you rent and watch tonight if you haven't ever seen it. At the start of the film, we are introduced to the little things that bring pleasure in Amelie's life - one of them being when she sinks her hand into a barrel of dry lentils in an outdoor market and the camera cuts to her face and she's glowing with happiness. What brings you that kind of simple happiness? For me, I suppose it's that first indulgent cup of Douwe-Egberts coffee in the morning, laced with a dab of unsweetened cocoa almond milk. Or pressing snooze on my phone for another five minutes when it sings to me to wake up.
And crying. Crying is a guilty pleasure of mine. One of the greatest abuses that society has heaped upon young boys and men is telling them that tears are a sign of weakness. My father was guilty of that as well - but he was also guilty of trying to push me through a square hole of "normalcy" that I passively resisted, which was such bollocks because he spent his own life bucking against the strictures of "normal" society. Ironically, those qualities were what I admired most about him - but they seemed to be the things that society had convinced him to be ashamed of in himself. I don't think I ever saw my father cry. That breaks my heart. A man who is not intimately in touch with his own feelings and his own emotions is spiritually disabled. I'm not saying that one should spend a lifetime sobbing. But sometimes it's necessary.
If there is one piece of advice that I could give to those of my biological predisposition ... it's "Cry, damn you. Your legs will be stronger for the time you spend on your knees, and your soul is so much deeper than you allow it to be. Tears are wiper fluid for the soul."
