Looking for ordinary days.

October 26, 2008

In search of quiet ordinary days I find the journey to be difficult and frankly a bit scary. As I write this my mood is calm and my thoughts are clear. But at some point during the day my mood will be low. I will feel lonely, frightened and possibly a bit desperate. To avoid the feelings I will search for activities to do that occupy time. Get through the day is my motto and I sure hope tomorrow is a better day. Sometimes just the simple act of tidying things up, putting everything in order can calm me down.
To everything there is a purpose……..

December 8, 2008

Today I literally pushed or pulled myself out the door. Not quite sure how to describe that place in time where you have your coat on, you look down and see that you have your shoes on, they are laced up and you realize you are ready to go somewhere. You look out the open door and you ask yourself where are you going? Why am I leaving the safety of my home? What is the purpose of leaving? Then you remind yourself you are moving forward, one step at a time. One step forward to get out of my lonely sad thoughts and find the purpose of the day.

Out the door I step, I see the sky that is darkened with a grey haze of cloud. Is that fog in the air or is that my mind playing tricks on me? I continue to walk forward to places that are friendly and familiar to me. Today I am listening to Christmas Carols on an old Walkman I have inherited from my son. O Holy night is playing and within seconds I can feel tears moisten my eyes. Oh, please let this be tears from waning female hormones and not the crashing down walls of depression.

I am now at the café writing this with my new favorite drink, a tall wet cappucion. I have in front of me a new book. Before I give myself permission to read I tell myself to write about this piece of the day. Keeping an archive of thoughts helps me to recognize the pattern of thoughts that need to change. Feel the pain, know the pain, and then release the pain and look for the Joy in the present moment. Smell the fragrant brew of espresso, listen to the gentle chatter of people sitting nearby and look at all the books. All the stories, all the knowledge.

I seem compelled to journal. Are my hands really shaking as I write this? Why do I feel so nervous? It’s time to stop writing and read a few pages of the book I am reading. I open the book, read a few pages and quickly realize I am not able to focus on the story. I close the book and remain seated in the chair and just stare into the space in front of me.