While I have loved my adventures and my curiosity, I am finally bone weary of discontent, of wanting to be somewhere else, someone else, in some other time doing some new thing. In my seventieth year now, it seems a good idea, even an opportunity, to plant my contentment right where I am. In adulthood, I have lived in six states, eleven houses, had a couple of husbands and untold numbers of dreams, notions and impulses, some followed to fruition and many more discarded. I have tried numerous paths to God, only to learn that just stopping where I am is where IT is.
As I talk with friends I find that many of us have had this experience of lifelong chasing the next shiny thing into the daydream and losing much of our lives in the process. I have stayed in this beloved place that I am married to for many years now, but the restlessness still aggravates. The seductive fantasy of a new love beckons.. a smaller more manageable property, a new medium for working with color, a new poetic form and on and on. It has been fun but now seems fragmented and exhausting.
In some things I have been faithful and gone deep. Those times have been the source of real joy and learning.. loving what I have and knowing the fullness of enough.. looking around and really experiencing the grace that is my life. In the years I have left, I want to cultivate the ability to surrender, to settle in, to look closely and clearly at what is in front of me now even the changes, even the losses. I want to experience the essence that is only found in the stillness of here...
the rain, the drippy green, a sleepy dog and the fog..