Collecting my Thoughts

Just because nothing was enough to form a concrete blog post.

I walked far this weekend – from Bleeker to 59th on Saturday. When I finally returned to my neighbohood, I realized that I’d just been walking and not paying total attention. So I started to look around, caught the scent of late-season honeysuckle and saw my first ever fig tree.

My name is going into space. I have achieved the closest I can to my goal of heading to the stars.

Social media platforms allow people to put their best lives forward. I stayed away from Facebook for most of the weekend, and immediately upon taking a scroll, I felt inadequate, lonely, and as if my life has nothing to do with anyone else’s. This is particularly interesting when, at my age, everyone is having children, marrying, going on vacation every thirty seconds; I feel left out, like I still haven’t grown up yet, or that there is a secret club I cannot join. Then I realized, no one wants to hear that you just get up in the morning and make it through your day. No one cares that you survive, that just being alive is enough. No one will “like” a status celebrating the intense daily struggle with accepting the mundane, and just living. But that’s where the true heroism lies – on putting one foot in front of the other and living present.

There have been some incredible sunrises and sunsets this weekend. And I am still shocked by the amount of people who just don’t pay attention to them, or simply observe, when the entire subway car is aflame with color.

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It took far too long for me to read any of Dennis Lehane’s work. And weirdly, it doesn’t make me homesick for Boston.

Sunday afternoon, I felt so happy – literally, happy – walking around in the sunshine that I couldn’t stop smiling. When I saw the light hitting the trees at just the angle to suggest dark evenings and mornings again, my chest ached with a sadness that didn’t diminish the pure emotion of happy. Somehow, they were able to coexist, to ache, to feel a loss tinged with the happy in the present moment. I don’t remember that last time I felt that way. I don’t know what caused it, or from whence it came, but everyone and everything was utterly beautiful yesterday afternoon. And I am grateful for that and also the people in my life.

I practiced yoga four days in a row, counting today. Rather than cursing my foot, I finally understood that it is going to heal, and that the time I took to slow down and focus on my alignment, body and breath and overall movement is going to enable me to be stronger in the future. And in truth, it already has. I can flow into poses with more ease. My arms are stronger, and each class I learn how to engage, to work another part of my body and to breathe in tandem in order to move into the pose. I was told “I had a beautiful practice” and was shocked, but in a good way. Yoga has become as natural to me as dance – maybe this is the dance that I never followed when I was young. I see the practice as a dance, as a fluid motion up and down, side to side, back and forth, but with a breathing pattern that brings more focus for me than dance ever did.

Spending time alone does not mean disengaging from society.

It’s ok to mourn a life that will not come to be a reality But after the mourning period has passed, it’s possible to look to opportunities with joy and with wonder and with a bit of fear. Because “life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans” and when those plans don’t pan out as expected, that doesn’t mean you have to stop dreaming. In fact, you should never stop dreaming. And there’s always another adventure.

I have seen something truly beautiful every day.

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