Since the dystopian showdown of 2020, I've found myself actively seeking smaller moments of pleasure. The kinds of pleasure that aren’t necessarily fueled by bright neon lights, loud noises, and extravagant, extraordinary, and boastful moments. I still like those big adventures too but they're no longer my focus. The quiet moments are. Those collected still moments, placidly lingering within airy rooms filled with fresh flowers, comfy furniture layered with thickly woven blankets, endless books to read, and displayed art. The moments of oversized tees and yoga pants, pots of tea, and slabs of chocolate. Sometimes I find the same simplicity and stillness in moments of nudity; my nakedness and I painting sizeable canvases across long afternoons and sunsets, losing all sense of time and gaining all sense of self.
These are the moments that I've been chasing lately. They’ve helped to make me feel centered during a time of great upheaval and imbalance. Sometimes I'm scared to admit just how much I love my downtime. I always feel an absurd sense of guilt for enjoying it so much, especially when the world is upside-down and inside-out. It's difficult having a thinly spread slice of peace when so many don't, and although my life has a chorus of complications, I know that many are dealing with things far greater than what I've got going on. My baggage is somewhat doable. Mostly.
May Sarton once said, "Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is richness of self." This is where I exist, inwardly, gathered within moments unremarkable, and yet, decidedly astounding.
Comments