Sitting on the steps outside my house, I feel the October sun warming me just enough to feel the pleasure of having to do less work to stay warm. Taking a break. Rest, recover, sleep, the golden nuggets of balance in a busy life.
Listening to the leaves blowing in the breeze and the traffic from Rt. 1, I am grateful for this time. Time to write. Time to notice. Time to enjoy. Even the pangs of hunger don’t interfere with the pleasure. It is moments like these that are sprinkled into my life that soften the jabs of obligation, chaos, destruction that go on within me and around me.
Moving with my own internal rhythms, I come to my breath. It stops. It starts. I hold it. I let go of it. I relax around it. I tense around it. What’s different than 20 years ago? 5 years ago? 5 months ago?
Choice. I have more choice. Choice to shift my attention to the traffic, to the rustling leaves, to the warm sun, to my breath. In pondering the idea of choice, some argue against free choice. I take time to think about my beliefs. What I come to is that only I know what interests me in any one moment. Only I know when I don’t have choice. Only I know when I am compulsive in my actions. Only I know when I can and do shift to a more satisfying stance.