I’m finding that life is good when we are quiet. When we are expansive thinkers instead of screen-staring cogs. I’m finding that money, work, approval from others, stubborn self-reliance have nothing to do with contentment. Security, sure, but I’d rather peer inward for that. Yeah, I’d rather be aware and balanced and in tune, mindful of what my soul craves and body needs. I’m finding that life is good, really good in a primal I-may-just-crack-open-with-joy-and-heart-shaped-confetti kind of way when I set goals without worrying if I’ll achieve them in the way I think I should. When I lose track of the word should all together. That’s when life is good.
So tonight, when all I wanted was to wall the day’s work at my front door, and wipe my headache on the mat, I turned the knob feeling creatively malnourished and walked in with a heavier step than normal. What I should do to get ahead, carve my path, plan my future…all that burned holes in my hardwood.
I immediately extinguished them. I wired my dad’s record player and let Sufjan’s bells and horns and clashes weave into my hair and interlace my cold fingers for the first time since moving into my new place. I wore his old Gap sweater, blue and slightly pilled but warm as a summer swim meet. I baked eggnog scones with a mexican chocolate glaze because it was just us in the house, me and the quiet, the moon as our witness.