I Think I (Must) Keep Moving

I'm never more at home than when I'm on the road.

When I sat, I felt dried out. Used up Worn out

Dramatic... I am draMATIC sometimes. I add this note when rereading, realizing that I wasn't really feeling quite so done.

I've been here for a week. That's my time. I can't stay in one place for long because it starts to fizzle.

It's one of those days. Things are a little off, but it's hard to put my finger on why. The line is a little longer, someone else took the last cinnamon roll, too many voices compete for the silence. I'm too hot; too cold.

The thing about being somewhere for a while is things start becoming real again. Routine invades. The phrase "have to" returns.

The sound of silence comes on. "No one cares" sticks out

The tone of a song may vary with my mood, or with the setting, the day, the weather.

It's not a bad day, just not the best day. That's fair, right? They can't all be the best. I remember a poem in which I once wrote: "without pain, I can't feel sweet gladness."

Today I started to feel like I have to do certain things. Like I can't continue to float and waft.

"I learned the hard way," says the new song. And I do.

But I can learn. I can grow. Nothing is perfect. Nothing is forever. That's why it's all so wonderful.

I can still waft and float as long as I want. The trick is to get your basics done without being sad and resentful. And choose as much as you can. CHOOSE. When I choose, I am unable to resent, well at least I can only resent myself.

Choose, choose, choose. That's the best advice for a special life. Choose what, where, when, how... and choose for you.

When I go back to the beginning of my thought, I realize I can choose. Although I have started to feel that little nagging "have to" building up, I can rise above it and realize I don't actually "have to" at all. Ever. We all know that, but we tell ourselves tales.

Pulling myself back together by letting the strings get loose, I gain the courage to float. There is true courage involved in creatively living.

Prelude to a Poem

I am working on a poem. The notion of it came to me when I was sitting in the botanical gardens. Just sitting and listening and looking. Taking my time. It turned into a couple of poem notions.

I haven't written a poem in years. Normally, I would just present the finished product, if at all. But I feel like sharing the inkling.

Sit and listen. Sit and look. Walk. Sit. Use your senses. You will enjoy your life more. To the last drop. It's a practice.

I will spend my whole life practicing to live. And I will savor every lesson. I do not seek to be perfect at living.

I am a tortured perfectionist, but I refuse to expect perfection from my existence. What a setup for sorrow and failure.

I choose to practice as long as I am fortunate enough to have the choice.