Archive for August, 2013

I had a whole weekend to myself, without pressing concerns.  I saw friends, ran a few light errands, took time to read.

Yet some of it was mildly unsettling.  When I lounged on the couch and talked to a friend, I had to restrain the compulsion to read the book on my coffee table.  When I went out to eat with friends, I wanted to go home. When I went to church, I would have preferred doing yoga.

I want relaxation when I want it and I only want a certain type of relaxation.  Imposed relaxation fails me, and the feeling of being locked into an activity takes away some of the flow and disengagement.

I’m even high-strung about my relaxation.

I don’t really know how to solve this, other than to work on accepting life’s situations.  I have an unknown number of years ahead, but I know it’s far too early to be fed up with what life presents.


Read Full Post »

I meditate along rivers, in grocery stores, over long meals.

Where you meditate says a lot about you, and a lot about what you should be doing.

What joy do I get from my routine: Snapchats, take-out food, the bus exhaust that I cough out while waiting to cross Mass Ave?  How much of my life do I spend that way?

I’ve been thinking a lot about a quote I came across:

The test of a vocation is the love of the drudgery it involves.” –Logan Pearsall Smith

Is meditation a reasonable test? Is it possible to combine work and rest?

I’m starting to think that cooking is my natural work mode, and rivers are my natural escape.  A lot of my thinking post-Montana has been about aligning my life with what works for me, and refusing to rely on what doesn’t.

I’m not going to give up on the writing bit, partially because I don’t think I could possibly have the emotional stability to take on the restaurant schedule and give up all socialization.  But I want to find those meditative states to write in–along rivers, over cups of delicate decaf coffee, on retreats.


Just as I was getting psyched about the idea of indulging meditation in grocery stores, wandering the aisles in casual search of energy and creativity, I came to find yesterday that my go-to grocery store got a facelift.  Half of the items have a different home.  Gaudy little flags announcing featured groceries, but there are so many that the shelves get lost in a haphazard flurry of red and yellow protrusions.  There’s no longer the junk food aisle of cheap soda and chips and party nuts. It wasn’t the same.

I think I would have legitimately panicked, were it not for my friend who accompanied me.  Now there is confusion, cold commercialism, lost memories. I’m wondering how to find the calm in an unfamiliar place, a place that now requires renewed attention, a place that asks me to step out of my food-induced reverie. I’m going to have to relearn, rewrite my memories, or else confront my unease every time I think about how there’s hummus where the cheese display used to be.

Read Full Post »