That is to say, I haven’t written in weeks because I don’t know what to write or how to write it. I compile a list of themes in my head and then table them one by one. I place them high on a shelf, where they’ll collect dust and, with all hope, an ounce of depth.
I am still here, living an (extra) ordinary life. I wake up. I get on my mat and then get out the door. I play tricks for 9 hours, stacking apricots and collecting smiles, and then I make my way home, walk the dog, fix up strange dinners, and sleep. The sun comes up, I rinse and repeat.
Life is simple these days. Simple like on the farm, but without the pastoral beauty and the endless, tranquil hills. We have hills here of course, big ‘uns that feel like mountains beneath my weak legs and stubborn bike wheels, but the kind of peace found here is of a different variety. In this vast city, there is no silver platter of serenity being served. If you want it, you’ve got to seek it, or, dare I say, earn it.
I work for it each day, with an intention and a deliberate effort at contentment. Each day I’m blessed with at least one dose of Zen. I realize the moment that I’m in and savor it for all that it is, whether it be a dewy morning walk with the Fluff, an extraordinary sky, or a bite of the best-ever-because-my-girlfriend-is-a-culinary-rock-star blueberry cobbler. Some days I get lucky and wind up on a glittery rainbow cloud of love and peace and gratitude. Other days I spend hours stuck in a gray pool of overemotional and utterly pessimistic crud, because let’s face it, I’m totally fallible.
All of that said: I love it here. And I don’t just mean here (this big, beautiful city, with all of it’s amazing food, scenery, and awesome individuals), I mean Here. Here as in Now, where with each passing day, I’m reminded just how lucky I am to be, even though I get home at the end of each day and my body aches from effort. Here I am loved (from near and far) and I am loving (more each day, as I try). I am hard at work and, ever so much as I can, finding joy and solace in books and yoga. In friends and strenuous bike rides. I’m doing a million things that l could be doing anywhere. Most certainly in the place that I just up-and-left… but I was simply incapable.
Sometimes everything you want is right in front of you, just out of reach. Or so it seems. I’ve come to the conclusion that happiness was never trying to elude me. What I likely needed all along was thoughtful action. Quite simply, to make a choice.