My cold still has me in its grip, but Dennis and I spent a little time in the woods. I knew going in that I didn’t have the energy to go far, so we contented ourselves with a walk to the stream and back. I attached to the Pentax the 70–210mm lens that Dennis got me for Christmas and found plenty of sunlit rocks, trees, and leaves to point it at. I even got a shot or two of Dennis.
Once we got back to the house, he brought the trashcans from the curb to the garage and helped Henry loosen a bolt (he’s working on replacing the rear brakes on his car). I, on the other hand, made my way to the backyard, where I sat in an Adirondack chair and forest bathed for five minutes. Thank goodness for those magenta snowpants I picked up at TJ Maxx years ago. I guess it seems sort of silly to leave the forest and then forest bathe in the backyard, but I can’t say that I know what I’m doing, and Dennis was not exactly interested in sitting in the woods. Anyway, I think I managed to open myself to noticing and being mindful. That’s all I was hoping to accomplish my first time out. What did I notice? Well, besides the noise of an airplane overhead, I listened to a bird or two and caught a glimpse of few.
“I was lost and lost my shame.” I’m listening to “The Silence” by Manchester Orchestra as I write, and that line caught my attention. I’ve noticed that the word shame shows up in songs more often than I would have imagined.
And now I am thinking about Steven Pressfield’s War of Art, an overrated book if ever there was one, but books that tell you how to get your shit together sell. I should know. I purchased plenty of them. I see that changing. It’s as if I’ve found the Holy Grail and there’s no need for anything else. Why would there be? You don’t bother with the rhinestones when you’ve got the diamond.
I realize that I felt that way about other things: the gluten-free diet, peace of heart, Dale Carnegie, and Ray Bradbury. The first two had staying power (I certainly won’t go back to gluten), but none of the others made themselves at home in my ribs. How do you continue living a lie once you learn the truth? Why would you even try?
So, my Amazon reference list has gotten considerably shorter, and I sometimes wonder how to proceed in this new life. I guess I thought it would be more straightforward. I’d live honestly for the first time ever, and with the game playing out of the way, all would be well. Turns out, it doesn’t work like that. Everyone else is still playing the games, and my honest life makes me more of a threat than they ever imagined I could be, even when I was trying to tell them that their daily bread was killing them.