Since 2020, I've found myself actively seeking smaller moments of pleasure. The kinds that aren't fueled by bright lights, loud noises, expensive furnishings, jewels, lavish foods, and all that's considered extravagant, extraordinary, and boastful. Obvs, I still like those big adventures too, but they're not my focus. The quiet moments are. The moments that happen within airy rooms filled with fresh flowers, comfy furniture, books, and art. The moments of oversized tees and yoga pants, pots of tea, and slabs of chocolate.
It's moments of nudity and paint and blank canvases that have brought me the most happiness; losing all sense of time and gaining all sense of self. The moments of rest, therapeutic crying, and meditation. The moments of baking goodies while watching BritBox; gardening while listening to music; jewelry making while singing along to musicals; exercising while reading historical articles; and all other moments of simplicity. These are the moments that I've been chasing. These moments - and those alike - 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 peace when so many don't, and although my life is anything but smooth sailing - and definitely not without complications - I know that people are dealing with things far greater than what I've got going on. My baggage is mostly doable.
I'm practicing to unlearn the toxic trait of carrying guilt. Of course, I deserve to know and have peace. Of course, I deserve stillness and moments to catch my breath. I deserve rest without feeling guilty. I earn my downtime - every single bit of it. It's owed. It's mine. So, I'm taking it. But then, why do I still feel so guilty? Perhaps, in part, it's part and parcel of a trauma response. Perhaps I need to remind myself, once again, and then again and again, and even more than that, probably, that contentment is a beautiful destination rewarded after a long and insufferable battle. Why should I not have rainbows after the storm? Why shouldn’t I be allowed to have concord and harmony?
May Sarton once said, "Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is richness of self." Every inch of her sentiment speaks volumes to my soul. This is where I exist, inwardly, abundantly within my own self and self-riches, gathered within moments unremarkable, and yet, decidedly astounding. I’m drunk on humility.
This 4th July Bank Holiday weekend was celebrated in style. In rest. In play. In laughter. And in peace. Not for the independence of America - there cannot be the celebration of freedom while patriarchal tyranny and Christian supremacy continue to enslave uterus owners by regulating our bodies, and we cannot celebrate the continued systematic racism and domestic terrorism within America - but for the love of my wife, her family, and our friends.
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