I’ve been re-reading The Faraway Nearby by the remarkable Rebecca Solnit. The first time I read my now dog-eared copy was four years ago when I became fascinated with the idea of writing personal nonfiction, especially memoir. I picked it up and put it down several times before I was able to settle in and focus.
We dreamed of building our own mountain settlement, of designing and crafting solid log homes that could become family retreats. We found a mountaintop, plopped down our savings and cajoled a local bank to give us a loan and began clearing roads. We discovered a company in Michigan that hauled in huge logs and assembled them with a crane.
While contemplating a quiet (as in pack my bags and slink off, maybe forever) disappearance, I came across a piece about Monhegan Island in the Travel section of the paper. As I read about the fierce beauty of the cliffs and the muted stillness of Cathedral Woods, a solution presented itself: a solitary retreat.
As seems to be the case with everyone, my thoughts have been consumed by an organism we cannot see, touch or feel until it makes us ill, or kills us. Somewhere in the fear and frustration of understanding that my life will be different for a while—in ways I already dislike and many I have yet to find out—came a…
My quiet home wraps me in a cozy blanket. I meander through the rooms, breathe in the solitude and remember the craziness of those busy, busy years when every second was planned out, long “to do” lists never quite completed, much like my stack of magazines. I wonder how often my son felt shorted of my attention.
This has been a mixed bag of a year, about evenly mixed with joys and upheavals. As always, I am my biggest challenge as I plod ahead stubbornly, making mistakes and anguishing for days about what I should have done instead. Forgiveness eventually comes, but never easily or quickly.
It’s that time of year to be thankful for all we have. To take a few deep breaths between our busy-ness and take a moment to experience the stillness we need to reflect on those tiny moments that pass by like images on a home movie. It’s reflecting on those snippets that create those memories which make up the story…
I’ve always thought of myself as a pretty responsible person when it comes to other’s feelings. So much so that I tend to get a mild panic attack when I feel I have let someone down, especially when that person is hurt by something I have done or said. It’s a responsibility we all have, this compassion and understanding for…
Because Time is linear by our current concept of understanding, our actions are as well. Imagine placing one foot in front of the other on the path of our lives. We are limited by the time it takes to perform any task. We are bound by our bodies that need food and sleep and other forms of care. We are…
Every day I think about what I should be writing, jot down a few notes…and find lots of excuses to not transfer my brilliant ideas onto paper. I even shut down the computer for four days. A rebellion. Let me tell you what happened.
If you look up liminal space, you’ll find a passage by Richard Rohr, an author and theologian. His reference and encouragement are clear in this passage: …where we are betwixt and between the familiar and the completely unknown. There alone is our old world left behind, while we are not yet sure of the new existence. That’s a good space…
It’s a blustery Sunday afternoon, relentless summer rains in Florida. I’ve been at my computer since 9:00 this morning, with a break to shower, brush my teeth and eat a bowl of soup. It’s one of those days of intense focus as I labor through the long and confusing task of culling through almost 80,000 words of a book I…
Occasional thoughts on just about anything.