After a five-block stroll each weekday morning I breeze through Theo's Coffee Shop and descend into Windows Booksellers' basement universe.
Autumn thoughts mesh with insights gleaned in weekend church services and from passages in books on which I have spent part of my paycheck at Windows (20% employee discount, you know). This time of year I tend to circle back toward laboring again on the book I consider mine to write. Thursday night I even worked on it somewhat satisfyingly; we'll see if that continues.
I had to journey through the transition into working full-time, into living more of my waking hours away from home than at home, into my tasks at the store becoming second nature. Though I'm still learning, I recognize the shift. It is natural, and it also has its intentional element. At my age (and just plain being me), there came a question regarding my ability to survive this. I think I'm discovering the answer.
Tim's and my California trip faced me squarely into my shoulders. That is, I found myself tensing up so much (in traffic, especially) I ended up in pain for about three weeks after our return. That was no fun, but the helpful result is I can now recognize where my body reacts to stress -- my neck and especially around my right shoulder blade. I've been able, at least part of the time, to tell myself things are okay. Hey, muscles, take a break. Cool it. Rest.
Rest while working? Before everything is finished; wow. That's a new possibility. Truth is, though, everything is never finished. This is part of our situation in reality. Though I trained myself long ago to fight against this, to make the world mine to write and to fix and to create, I am in control of very little.
There is a good part. The better part of everything: observing beauty -- in coworkers who are exceptionally patient and kind, in strolls through fall colors morning and evening, and in a dear husband who buys curried chicken salad from Fred Meyer because I'm not cooking.
Keats knew: "Beauty is truth, truth beauty." How truly restful.
Autumn thoughts mesh with insights gleaned in weekend church services and from passages in books on which I have spent part of my paycheck at Windows (20% employee discount, you know). This time of year I tend to circle back toward laboring again on the book I consider mine to write. Thursday night I even worked on it somewhat satisfyingly; we'll see if that continues.
I had to journey through the transition into working full-time, into living more of my waking hours away from home than at home, into my tasks at the store becoming second nature. Though I'm still learning, I recognize the shift. It is natural, and it also has its intentional element. At my age (and just plain being me), there came a question regarding my ability to survive this. I think I'm discovering the answer.
Tim's and my California trip faced me squarely into my shoulders. That is, I found myself tensing up so much (in traffic, especially) I ended up in pain for about three weeks after our return. That was no fun, but the helpful result is I can now recognize where my body reacts to stress -- my neck and especially around my right shoulder blade. I've been able, at least part of the time, to tell myself things are okay. Hey, muscles, take a break. Cool it. Rest.
Rest while working? Before everything is finished; wow. That's a new possibility. Truth is, though, everything is never finished. This is part of our situation in reality. Though I trained myself long ago to fight against this, to make the world mine to write and to fix and to create, I am in control of very little.
There is a good part. The better part of everything: observing beauty -- in coworkers who are exceptionally patient and kind, in strolls through fall colors morning and evening, and in a dear husband who buys curried chicken salad from Fred Meyer because I'm not cooking.
Keats knew: "Beauty is truth, truth beauty." How truly restful.
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