“A well-rounded life is filled with delights and wonders. Why is that so easy to forget? Instead of getting caught up in another mundane drama, choose intrigue and awe.”
Hmmm…my horror-scope for the day. No, I’m not a daily reader, or even more than someone who comes across things like this occasionally and pauses long enough to think about how it relates to me — if at all. It’s fascinating when a few things come together all at once, though, like it’s someone’s plan — for me. Again, not really what I believe, but interesting to think about.
For example, after I read the words quoted above, I started my day on the web ( I know…) and came across Mr. Besilly whose post today is about “Holding Onto Dreams.” I could wax prolifically about the words of the person he quotes, because I had an inkling of a thought of an idea one upon a time that I won’t call impossible — because I’m not one to call anything that — but was a very bright light in my life for the blink of an eye. Although it never came to be, I remember it with fondness whenever something reminds me of it. It was worth having that seed of a possibility for a while, taking the ho-hum out of my life, giving me the rich taste of what could be.
And then I remembered a post yesterday at I Live on a Farm called “Dream like no one is watching” and thought about the connection between dreaming, delights, and wonders. I suppose if you’re the practical sort, you’ve snorted a few times by now. You have a list, or lists, more likely: one for today, one for the week, one for the month, one for short term and long term things to get done. Maybe you actually accomplish the things on those lists, and fall into bed each night with a sense of “job well done.” That’s simply marvelous, because I would hope that you don’t end each day with a drowning sense of not being ever finished, or being obsessed with being able to count the things you did — like someone is keeping score and will catch you if you didn’t do anything. Do you? Yes, you do. That’s pretty sad. I’m an expert because I used to do that, too.
The Moh and I drove down to the beach for a walk in the the “May Grey” that precedes the “June Gloom” last evening to move our bones a bit and breathe the salty, brisk air. At some point, our talk turned to the idea of wanting, wishing, or hoping for more — whatever more is, and whether wanting more is something you can do aloud. You know, if you say it, you’ll be struck down, or frowned upon, or thought greedy because you should always be thankful for what you have, and there are starving people in this world, and it’s just wrong to want more. More. Lots and lots more. I’m sorry! Okay? Jeez.
Now, picture a man standing with a solid, grounded stance, holding a balloon that resembles a woman reaching for the stars, suspended by a long, long string that he is trying to pull her to back to Earth with. That would be me and the MoH on our walk having this discussion. But at some point towards the end, he told me a story he heard on the radio about the mayonnaise jar and the golf balls. You’ve probably heard it already, but I hadn’t, and a simple Google search of “Story jar, golf balls, pebbles, sand, and coffee” gained me 23,900 hits. I never cease to amaze myself at how long my head has been completely buried in the sand for the last gazillion years. I chose the post called “Cup of Life” at joey moggie if you haven’t heard the story either — and welcome to my world.
First off, the Moh doesn’t tell stories, so the whole thing was pretty wonderful just listening to him. Yah, I really like the MoH. And I torture him with my malarkey all the time, so he gets a star for that. But even more interesting — his story connects with everything else that has been lining up lately. No, I’m not going to go off on some bizarro cosmos rant. But remember what I said about considering myself to be a pathological optimist and constructive pessimist? Well, these pithy words of wisdom have been falling all around me for days now, and I’m just now getting around to noticing their connection to one another. What I need to do is get a big cork for my constructive pessimism that is always yammering at and around me, telling me about all the “what ifs” I have to watch out for or else.
I’m surrounded by practical people everywhere — except the RT who’s drifty like me, and it’s really challenging to not listen to them. I’m thinking they should listen to me. Well, they do, but more. Somebody responded to one of my posts the other day saying that I just had to tolerate something because it was how things are. Just accept it because “we” all do. Society “we.” My maternal grandmother’s response to that would have been, “Who’s we? You and the turd in your pocket?” Now that’s a woman who knew things. She just never got credit for knowing. Of course, she wasn’t very practical, either. I’m thinking practical isn’t all it’s chalked up to be. And I’m tired of being a round peg in a square hole — or something like that. So I’m smelling the flowers just about as fast as I can every day now, making up for lost time. I’m doing so much flower smelling my house is messier that it’s ever been, and it still hasn’t caved in so there must be something to my method.
Now, where was that dream so I can blow the dust off of it and give it a few tweaks here and there. Maybe some mouth to mouth resuscitation. It may not be the stuff of intrigue and awe, but still. Then you’ll see. Just watch. Come on — hold your breath. I dare you.