The very ACT of slowing down, and timing out, will leave us with that place in the movie where the brilliant businessman or the overworked janitor or famous fashionista or dedicated housewife takes a walk along the beach or in the woods and ... is present.
.... In their own life.
... Dares to think about it all ... good and bad.
Feels it. And maybe ... make some changes when coming home. Going up on the hill and scout the horizon of life.
So maybe this is odd, but I swear - it has made me feel more alive than what I have felt in a long time.
Just thinking, talking and acting slower - much slower - than I usually do. This is how to do it.
This is how to get that quality - that presence - that mindfulness - call it what you want.
This is to get what I longed for, but didn't know that I longed for until I felt really, really empty inside for months on end... And I have.
But it is over now. I will keep this way of being here in the world up this time. This time I will be here - with every part of my self.
If you are chased by too many things 'you have to do', no matter their merit, you chase your soul out of your body. You become a machine. Less alive.
Sometimes the most alive you can feel comes from accepting and then just doing it: Sitting down and doing nothing.
Relaxing. Going with the flow. Whatever you want to call it.
I have to tell stories to feel alive, it is that simple, and I know it and I am deeply regretful about the periods when I have forgotten it, for all sorts of 'good reasons'. Or when I have doubted my ability to do it, to ever bring my storytelling out into the world in any meaningful form and therefore have stalled.
I have to keep fighting that and so the only way that makes sense is to do it one fight at a time, a few hundred words here and there - but regularly. Please let me not forget.
So is it fruit mostly or quitting the superfluous noise of the Internet? Which makes me feel more alive? More present? More Real?
I guess only further experiments can answer that with any degree of certainty. But suffice to say, I don't think it's worth it to try to pollute my mind again with more Internet Noise and then balance that off with more ginger shots.
Also I bought the small sketch pad to have in my pocket to, well, draw on - instead of looking at the phone when I wait or commute. I had forgotten a proper pencil, of course, but there you go.
I feel good about that version. It'll allow me to draw in bits all during the day, or rather - I allow myself to do so. At the same time I vow to constrain myself from other distractions such as the Internet. It'll be workable and more flexible, esp. when Jay comes around.
Last up, I felt much less overwhelmed by the task of cleaning up our rooms, which I have fretted about many days before this post.
It seems all I really needed to do to feel surplus for this (rather big) task, given the circumstances, was to clean up my mind first.
There is simple 'maintenance-work' of body and spirit - any rejuvenating activity. Only in recent years have I come to appreciate to do rejuv every day, whether meditating or reading a book. And it's not just because I'm getting older. I believe it's the hard-earned experience of what happens if I neglect it.
Whatever *else* it is that’s still existentially 'blank' in my life – a Big Blank, it feels like – that will not go away when my son comes. I’ll probably be able to forget about this lack in my soul a lot, because I am … well … busy. But forgetfulness is not a solution to such a feeling.
It is remarkable that - aside from a purposeful, hopeful vision of how to contribute to the world - the simple act of telling a moving story makes me feel alive again. No veggies or weight-lifting required.