My recent lifestyle change has been a pleasant one. Even though I have been on my own several times in the past, over time I had forgotten how much I enjoy the quiet times and predictability of being alone. I knew I missed it, but I didn't know how much. Where most people tend to be bored out of their skull, I find myself being very relaxed, thoughtful, and enjoying the time to reflect. I also find myself generally sleeping better (and without ear plugs). My new home is clothing optional, and thanks to the stellar weather we've had this summer since I've moved, it has been very optional--as in hardly ever. I find myself almost in a hurry to get home these days. While I have always been in a little bit of a hurry to get home, it was just so I could take my shoes off and have a beer. Now, it's different. I am hurrying home to my place. I can unwind. I can think.
Maybe it's partly because Edgewood, my new home, is almost a sort of rural oasis. It's surrounded on all sides by the hustle and bustle of traffic gridlock and human over-activity only a few miles away, but here it is very relaxed and quiet. There are large fields of grass, barns, pastures, and all sorts wide open spaces. There are very few apartment buildings here. I wake to the sounds of chickens, which I find strangely refreshing. Back behind my place there appears to be a menagerie of Alpacas, geese, and chickens. The geese occasionally emit their 'squonk' but other than that all I ever hear are the chickens. I love being able to slide a morning window open and hear chickens clucking or the occasional rooster crow, and none of them are close enough to bother me. Oddly enough, there seem to be no outdoor dogs anywhere around. Maybe people don't feel the need to have canine security devices here like they do in other places.
Things are peaceful. Things are predictable.
Friday, August 29, 2014
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Smiling to Myself
I have had so many moments of contemplation since I have been back on my own that I can't even recall the number. You know the moments: the times when the temperature is just right, the breeze is just right, the sounds are just right, a feeling is just right, or any other perfect moment presents itself and is noticed. At first I thought maybe that was it--I was just noticing them. After all, with only me here my new house is quiet. In addition to the quiet in the house, there is quiet outside the house. I would find myself noticing it and drinking it all in. I would smile to myself.
Standing naked at the open, chest-high bedroom window moments before getting into bed, I would lean on the windowsill, looking out at the sky. I'd find myself inhaling deeply as I stood, letting my eyes close slightly as I tasted the summer evening air with my hungry nostrils. When I opened my eyes, the the clouds--lit by the waning sun--seem to invite me to watch. "Don't close your window yet!" they seem to say. I watched them, marveling at the various shades of pale pink, peach yellow, and purple-blue as if it were my private show. At that moment it was if time was frozen. I would smile to myself, wanting the moment to go on forever. When I would finally relent, telling myself I have to go to bed, I didn't want to close the window or the blinds right away. I would lay on top of my bed, eyes closed, listening, smelling, and reliving the almost spiritual experience I had at the window moments before. I would fall asleep almost instantly, and yes--I would be smiling to myself. Sure, I would awaken a little later and close the window and blinds, but that didn't matter. I had my moment of appreciation.
Lying out in the back yard in the glaring hot sun, I would be in the same state. Taking deep, slow breaths it was if I was breathing for the first time, and I was reveling in the feeling of the sun baking my skin, my vision blood-red from the sun glaring on my closed eyelids. The sounds of chickens a short distance away, clucking as they searched for food was punctuated with an occasional rooster crow or squawk from a goose. The sound of a plane would catch my attention and I'd listen to it, mentally tracking with my eyes closed as it went across the sky. Suddenly, a breeze would come up, cooling me with a welcome relief and making the trees come alive with a whoosh of fluttering leaves. I smiled to myself. I think if anyone were to see me at that moment they would see the smile slowly spread across my face as if I had just recalled a pleasant memory.
Recently, the rain came. After two months of nary a sprinkle, thunderstorms arrived. For those of you that don't live here, we are seldom blessed with thunder and lightning. The shelter of mountains on both sides of us usually prevent us from any of nature's light shows. When the skies darkened with thick clouds and the slow rumble spread across the land that afternoon, I smiled to myself. As I sat in my living room that day, I heard a soft ping. Then another. And another. Then it occurred to me I was hearing the slow build of a summer rain, and the pinging sound was the heavy drops as they hit the metal chimney top--the sound coming down through the fireplace. I stopped what I was doing and listened to the music. The pinging from the chimney, the soft patter of the building rain hitting the canvas gazebo roof on the patio, punctuated with the occasional bass rumble of thunder. And yet--it was still warm enough to have all the windows open. It was perfect. I smiled to myself. When I went to bed that night it was raining heavily, and I stood at the window as I always do--breathing deep, listening, and feeling the cool breezes that came with the rain. When I lay down on top of my bed and closed my eyes, the sounds that came with the rain were pleasant to fall asleep to. There was no abundance of roof noise, downspout noise, or any other noise associated with the rain. It was music.
I smiled to myself.
Standing naked at the open, chest-high bedroom window moments before getting into bed, I would lean on the windowsill, looking out at the sky. I'd find myself inhaling deeply as I stood, letting my eyes close slightly as I tasted the summer evening air with my hungry nostrils. When I opened my eyes, the the clouds--lit by the waning sun--seem to invite me to watch. "Don't close your window yet!" they seem to say. I watched them, marveling at the various shades of pale pink, peach yellow, and purple-blue as if it were my private show. At that moment it was if time was frozen. I would smile to myself, wanting the moment to go on forever. When I would finally relent, telling myself I have to go to bed, I didn't want to close the window or the blinds right away. I would lay on top of my bed, eyes closed, listening, smelling, and reliving the almost spiritual experience I had at the window moments before. I would fall asleep almost instantly, and yes--I would be smiling to myself. Sure, I would awaken a little later and close the window and blinds, but that didn't matter. I had my moment of appreciation.
Lying out in the back yard in the glaring hot sun, I would be in the same state. Taking deep, slow breaths it was if I was breathing for the first time, and I was reveling in the feeling of the sun baking my skin, my vision blood-red from the sun glaring on my closed eyelids. The sounds of chickens a short distance away, clucking as they searched for food was punctuated with an occasional rooster crow or squawk from a goose. The sound of a plane would catch my attention and I'd listen to it, mentally tracking with my eyes closed as it went across the sky. Suddenly, a breeze would come up, cooling me with a welcome relief and making the trees come alive with a whoosh of fluttering leaves. I smiled to myself. I think if anyone were to see me at that moment they would see the smile slowly spread across my face as if I had just recalled a pleasant memory.
Recently, the rain came. After two months of nary a sprinkle, thunderstorms arrived. For those of you that don't live here, we are seldom blessed with thunder and lightning. The shelter of mountains on both sides of us usually prevent us from any of nature's light shows. When the skies darkened with thick clouds and the slow rumble spread across the land that afternoon, I smiled to myself. As I sat in my living room that day, I heard a soft ping. Then another. And another. Then it occurred to me I was hearing the slow build of a summer rain, and the pinging sound was the heavy drops as they hit the metal chimney top--the sound coming down through the fireplace. I stopped what I was doing and listened to the music. The pinging from the chimney, the soft patter of the building rain hitting the canvas gazebo roof on the patio, punctuated with the occasional bass rumble of thunder. And yet--it was still warm enough to have all the windows open. It was perfect. I smiled to myself. When I went to bed that night it was raining heavily, and I stood at the window as I always do--breathing deep, listening, and feeling the cool breezes that came with the rain. When I lay down on top of my bed and closed my eyes, the sounds that came with the rain were pleasant to fall asleep to. There was no abundance of roof noise, downspout noise, or any other noise associated with the rain. It was music.
I smiled to myself.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Chronicling Life
I wonder how many other people "go all philosophical" as they get older. How many people become aware of the things they did or didn't do during the course of their lives? How many people remember things they are sorry they got mixed up in or sorry they missed out on? I would guess that it doesn't happen to as many as it should. If so, it's probably fleeting. They may be better for absence of it--who knows?
Not everyone has the level of introspection that I have, which is good. If everyone was over-thinking shit all the time nothing would ever get done. I like to think that my level of thought (call it analyzing, worrying, pondering, or whatever) is good for my life. I like to think that the fact that I do mull things over creates a more positive place for me and those around me. How? By the fact that I'm always carefully considering things before doing them or saying them. Ramifications, perceived reactions, fairness, honesty--all sorts of things go through my mind when I'm making choices. I try to think before I act. It drives me crazy sometimes. I know it drives other people crazy as well. My level of impulsiveness is sometimes so low I wonder if it can be measured. Cursed with thought? Hobbled by an overactive mind?
I have had many, many regrets in my life, and one of them is that I never kept a journal of any kind when I was younger. I would dearly love to be able to read what was going through my mind at various points in my life. Imagine being able to go to the "table of contents" of your life, select a time period, and zip right to it. It could be something as mundane as what I ate for lunch or what kind of weather we had that day, but it could have also given me some insight as to how I responded mentally or physically to something that happened to me during a particular day. Fell down and skinned my knee riding a bicycle? Angry at having to write "I will not..." a thousand times because someone did something to punish the whole class? Sick and home from school? Scared and alone in a strange place? All of these things I remember tidbits of, but it would be so interesting to be able to get a feel for how they affected me at that time. Hell, maybe it would scare the hell out of me to be suddenly looking though my eyes during a traumatic moment. I didn't know I would like to write about things as I got older and more thoughtful. Had I known or aspired to it, I would have kept journals. I would have taken more writing and English classes. I would have focused my energies instead of just squandering life and living like a selfish, part-time hedonist.
Or would I?
Not everyone has the level of introspection that I have, which is good. If everyone was over-thinking shit all the time nothing would ever get done. I like to think that my level of thought (call it analyzing, worrying, pondering, or whatever) is good for my life. I like to think that the fact that I do mull things over creates a more positive place for me and those around me. How? By the fact that I'm always carefully considering things before doing them or saying them. Ramifications, perceived reactions, fairness, honesty--all sorts of things go through my mind when I'm making choices. I try to think before I act. It drives me crazy sometimes. I know it drives other people crazy as well. My level of impulsiveness is sometimes so low I wonder if it can be measured. Cursed with thought? Hobbled by an overactive mind?
I have had many, many regrets in my life, and one of them is that I never kept a journal of any kind when I was younger. I would dearly love to be able to read what was going through my mind at various points in my life. Imagine being able to go to the "table of contents" of your life, select a time period, and zip right to it. It could be something as mundane as what I ate for lunch or what kind of weather we had that day, but it could have also given me some insight as to how I responded mentally or physically to something that happened to me during a particular day. Fell down and skinned my knee riding a bicycle? Angry at having to write "I will not..." a thousand times because someone did something to punish the whole class? Sick and home from school? Scared and alone in a strange place? All of these things I remember tidbits of, but it would be so interesting to be able to get a feel for how they affected me at that time. Hell, maybe it would scare the hell out of me to be suddenly looking though my eyes during a traumatic moment. I didn't know I would like to write about things as I got older and more thoughtful. Had I known or aspired to it, I would have kept journals. I would have taken more writing and English classes. I would have focused my energies instead of just squandering life and living like a selfish, part-time hedonist.
Or would I?
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