Simplicity

Ah, so it's been a month since I last posted on here, with good reason. I remember when I first started writing, I was so faithful to post at least once a day, sometimes twice if I felt so inspired. Now this blog exists more for when the moment strikes, and it hasn't struck for some time now. In fact, it isn't striking now either, but I do want to keep writing, so here I am, back in the virtual world.

Last night I was doing a bit of actual writing, you know the kind (or maybe you don't! depending on how old you are). It's the kind that uses a notebook with lined paper, usually made from trees (though they have plastic Bibles now, just right for using if you want to read your Bible while scuba-diving, or taking a stroll in the rain, and you can even highlight and mark them too!). I think pens are still in use out in the "real" world, so I won't bother to explain to you what those are. So here I was, sitting at my brand new to me, used to others, dining room table that expands out to seat about 50 people but thankfully is only about four feet wide when at its smallest. I had my favourite navy blue notebook, and my Uni-ball Vision Elite 0.5 mm pen (the only kind I use for journalling) and was busy writing away.

I've always been a writer, a scribbler, a "journaler," since I can remember. I wrote a fantastic story about a planet with green people and blue trees, or some strange combination, for Reading class when I was in elementary school and I still have it filed away somewhere. That was back in the day of lined paper that came with a dotted line about halfway between the top and bottom lines, so you knew exactly where to put the top of your lowercase "a" and the top of the bump of the "d." It was also the day of thick black pencils that you could barely wrap your little chubby hand around.

I remember going on choir tours and trips to the coast or Yosemite when I was in college and everywhere I went, I brought a notebook and a pen or two with me. I had to write, to put down on paper how I was feeling, what I was observing, what I was thinking. Others seemed intimidated by my furious scribbling, wandering over and asking what I was writing, the brave ones asking if they could read some of it. I never let anyone read my writings, of course, unless it happened to be something I was working on for creative writing class. One year I wrote a poem and read it to my friend while we were sitting in the little bus on our way home from the San Francisco airport, returning from two weeks in Taiwan. She listened to me read it, and then she asked me to read it again.

But I digress. I started out by saying that I haven't been posting for a month with good reason, the reason being that I've not been feeling too well for the past month. Weird symptoms, kind of like the flu except not quite, and I still have no idea what caused them or why they stuck around for so long. I had no idea whether I had a virus, was allergic to a type of food, was stressed out, or had some strange illness! So doing the best that I knew how, I tried to get plenty of sleep, eat healthy, read my Bible, exercise, and get some sunshine regularly. I sat out in the sun after lunch for at least 15 minutes every day, often taking over an hour for my lunch break, but I felt it was worth it. That time spent soaking up the sun's rays helped to calm my anxious thoughts as the heat seeped into my skin and I felt myself slowly relax. Doing this consistently, I began to realize that I was missing out on something.

The simplicity of life. How many of us rush about through our day, proud and pleased to say to anyone who asks how we are, "busy, stressed, and how are you?" only to hear the same response in reply? We turn on the TV in the morning as we gulp down our breakfast, spend the day in front of a computer or on an adrenaline rush as we attempt to get more done in less time than ever, come home to spend more time in front of the TV or computer "relaxing" and go to bed much too late, only to wake up to repeat the same cycle again. Who has time to sit in the sun for 15 minutes? That would mean 15 minutes more that I would have to stay at work that evening, or make up an hour on Friday, and I've got a schedule to keep to. After all, Dr. Phil comes on at 5 pm and I have to be home to watch that. I can't miss my Dr. Phil show. . .

Do you know what I miss in the midst of all of this? I miss life. Real life. We live such an artificial life in such a stimulated world that it is no wonder we feel stressed and depressed, rushed, alone, and at times, completely lost. We have forgotten what it feels like to stop and take a moment to be in the moment. Sitting in the sun, contemplating but not nearly so much that as actually drinking in the fresh mountain air and feeling the touch of late autumn's heat, I began to think about what I missed the most.

I miss twirling about in the lightly falling rain on a freshly cut lawn. I miss climbing trees and breathing deeply of pine. I miss handwritten letters and long-distance crackly phone calls. I miss singing old hymns and AY songs. I miss the bustle of crowds, the smell of roasted corn, and fresh rain on the sidewalk. I miss fruit in the marketplace, hiking to the tops of mountains, green bean and tomato stew, and playing Kahraba in the dark. I miss sitting cross-legged on a cold cement block, writing in my journal as I look out over a sea of little dotted lights.

Sometimes I stop and think about where I'm at, what I'm doing, and question whether I'm headed in the right direction. Sometimes I wonder what I would say if a complete stranger were to ask me, "if you could do anything in the world, money wasn't an object, and you didn't have to worry about family, education, or time, what would you do?" I think perhaps tonight I would reply, "I would live life."