Its Up to Me
I don't want to write any more about New York. Not yet anyway. The last few days there swim in my head like so much marinara sauce, but maybe that meal doesn't sit quite right with me. Yeah, sorry, whatever.
I've been trying hard to get something back. Namely, myself. I've been indulging in activities that are of interest to me...reading voraciously, even staying up nights until 3:00 am trying to pour through another 100 pages. I'm cooking, cleaning, keeping house. Tomorrow, I'm going fishing on a solo trip to sea. Maybe I'll catch a big fish. Someone I work with noticed I smile less than I usually do; he inquired if I was OK, and told me he couldn't wait for me to get my smile back. I didn't realize I was that dour. Truth be told, I'm actually really happy...maybe I'm enjoying the thinking, deep pondering, meditation I've been doing. Monks don't smile when they meditate, but when they're done, those guys have the goofiest grins. My coworker probably caught me at a moment of internal consult; still, it felt nice to have someone outside of me express care and concern. Knowing someone enjoyed when I smiled put the grin on my face that was already latent beneath my lips.
Life is such a set of scales! When something goes well, it just seems that someone must go wrong to make up for it. Before, I was very happy with my life outside of work. I thought I had it going ON over there. But then work was horrible and I'd come home each day reeking with the stench of my misery in it. Perhaps then this is why when work started taking a turn for the better that the pressure my previous misery had placed on my life outside of work started to cause that to curdle as well. Now I go to work, happy to be there, but somewhat reluctant to come home.
That too will pass, but its a new feeling, and one I think a lot about. Still, the idea that tomorrow I'll be baiting some salty squid on a hook, hoping that the sea will release a gift to me, excites me dearly. Mario always feels better when he imerses himself in the sea, allowing himself to become one with the waves. My relationship to that giant, blue mass has been that of a farmer...I plow the surface on a boat, making rows of wake for which I sow my thoughts. I cast my line to reap its riches. When riding in a boat as a passenger, I always park myself at its stem...watching ahead, keeping my feet steady, never feeling a twinge of seasickness. Like I belong there. Like I've been asked to be there. Like it wants me to stay.
I've been trying hard to get something back. Namely, myself. I've been indulging in activities that are of interest to me...reading voraciously, even staying up nights until 3:00 am trying to pour through another 100 pages. I'm cooking, cleaning, keeping house. Tomorrow, I'm going fishing on a solo trip to sea. Maybe I'll catch a big fish. Someone I work with noticed I smile less than I usually do; he inquired if I was OK, and told me he couldn't wait for me to get my smile back. I didn't realize I was that dour. Truth be told, I'm actually really happy...maybe I'm enjoying the thinking, deep pondering, meditation I've been doing. Monks don't smile when they meditate, but when they're done, those guys have the goofiest grins. My coworker probably caught me at a moment of internal consult; still, it felt nice to have someone outside of me express care and concern. Knowing someone enjoyed when I smiled put the grin on my face that was already latent beneath my lips.
Life is such a set of scales! When something goes well, it just seems that someone must go wrong to make up for it. Before, I was very happy with my life outside of work. I thought I had it going ON over there. But then work was horrible and I'd come home each day reeking with the stench of my misery in it. Perhaps then this is why when work started taking a turn for the better that the pressure my previous misery had placed on my life outside of work started to cause that to curdle as well. Now I go to work, happy to be there, but somewhat reluctant to come home.
That too will pass, but its a new feeling, and one I think a lot about. Still, the idea that tomorrow I'll be baiting some salty squid on a hook, hoping that the sea will release a gift to me, excites me dearly. Mario always feels better when he imerses himself in the sea, allowing himself to become one with the waves. My relationship to that giant, blue mass has been that of a farmer...I plow the surface on a boat, making rows of wake for which I sow my thoughts. I cast my line to reap its riches. When riding in a boat as a passenger, I always park myself at its stem...watching ahead, keeping my feet steady, never feeling a twinge of seasickness. Like I belong there. Like I've been asked to be there. Like it wants me to stay.
posted by The Semi-Pro Chef at Saturday, July 23, 2005
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