Savoring Things

I've been in therapy off and on for about 13 years. Recently my therapist and I decided it was time to let our work germinate in the real world...ie: end our therapeutic relationship. Obviously I've had therapeutic relationships end before, many times, some entirely on my terms, some, devastatingly not. This time is different as it was a mutual decision. We decided to taper off, move from seeing each other weekly to seeing each other monthly. Tonight we talked about this tapering off and how it was going and he pointed out something to me. He said, based on what I had said, that it seemed like I was savoring things more, savoring life, and savoring the present. Much of our work had to do with being present in the right now and I haven't quite latched on to a feeling of success in that endeavor. But tonight, hearing the word savor brought a smile to my face, because it felt like recognition. Instead of the phrasing being instruction, something I should learn and practice, it was like he gave language to something I was already experiencing. And that feeling of success that had eluded me forever it seems, made a brief but highly enjoyable appearance. I'm trying to let myself savor that feeling of accomplishment, knowing full well that it cannot be sustained forever.

Lucky Find

Tonight, while out on a walk with my husband I accidentally stepped on a neon green harmonica. It was quite dirty and looked like it might have been run over, but I wiped it off as best I could and started playing it. And by playing it I mean blew into it randomly to make whatever noise I could. I did this happily for about 10 minutes, then delightedly placed the harmonica in my coat pocket. What's great about this is not only did I find a perfectly useful (for me at least) harmonica on the ground, but it reminded me of one of my oldest friends who just had a birthday. It was a very cinematic moment because all the times I'd watched her stop to pick something up off the ground and pocket it(washers, nuts and bolts, ball bearings, strange unidentifiable things, etc) flashed through my head and I felt so appreciative to know someone who taught me so much about the delights of found objects and their beauty.

She's a pretty great dancer too.

Other simple delights from the day:
1. A Mother and very young child calling out for "Buddy" while we were out on our walk. The small child's call was both unbelievably adorable and incredibly sad until we saw Buddy come running past us towards his home. I couldn't help but feel elated and joyful at that sight.

2. Marmy and youngest niece coming to visit me. Absolute highlight of this visit was my niece laying on Lambert, our stuffed lion that is actually bigger than her. She made a bed out of him and she fit very nicely. Actual highlight of the visit: youngest niece's smile...always.

To be thankful

This day I had two distinct simple delights creep up on me. The first occurred while driving home from work. While stopped at a light, I looked to my left, mid-yawn to find a young boy, possibly eleven years old, in the passenger seat of the car next to me just turning to meet my gaze, also mid-yawn. We both wrapped up our yawns at the same time, and to my delight we followed with simultaneous grins at one another. This was particularly delightful, as I've found I expect rudeness or contempt generally from most young boys encountered in those anonymous ways. But this kid found our simultaneous yawning just as amusing as I did, and I count myself lucky to have had such a pleasant illusion-shattering moment with him.

Negativity seems to grow on me these days, like a subtle tree fungus. It's there, I can see it, but it often seems small enough to ignore. I realized this evening how I could get eaten away by it. Thus this blog. I want to acknowledge the goodness in my life, in the world, in other people and things. Each day.

My second simple delight was shared with a more intimate partner, my husband Michael (or well my almost-husband but who shall henceforward be referred to as my husband, as that is how I think of him). We work different schedules and therefore sleep at different times. However, when we do get the rare chance to put each other to bed we usually take it. Tonight it was Michael who was headed to bed early. We crawled in under the covers and were chatting, cuddled close, facing each other. When he started to turn away from me (most likely to avert an impending tickle attack) I pleaded "Turn around" in a sing-songy way and he followed by singing "every now and then I fall apart". We both immediately giggled our way through the rest of the chorus, me nuzzling my toes in the crook of his knees to keep them warm. I can't even express in words the sense of overwhelming joy I got from our silliness, our connectedness. I've led a very blessed life, not without struggle or strive (both internal and external), but one full of enchantment, wonder, grace and unfettered joy and delight. For all of this, I am thankful.