I like to read my comments. Yesterday's comment from Stevie Wren really made me sad, though. Stevie described herself as 'about to die from boredom'. I hope she doesn't mind me doing a blog about her comment, but really, it's been bothering me since I read it. If I had her phone number, I'd have called her straightaway just to liven her day. By the time I was done being bothered, I'd had myself a good cry, because I am a sap.
I've been kind of stuck in this 'tween place. Between 'mom' and 'mature adult woman'. It's been a heavy thinking time, sort of a culmination of a 'thinking' that began a couple years ago when I was ill. I'm never ill so this was a real eye opener. This situation was a long term thing with multiple trips to the doctor, and every time I went, they'd find some other problem (see? you hang around doctors, and next thing you know there's something wrong. Avoid them). One thing after another, try this, try that. I mean, I really felt awful, like I could actually lay down and die. There was a breathless period of time waiting for biopsy results (benign) and surgery, and slowly but surely, I began to feel like a human being again. I guess that is where the 'heavy thinking' sort of began. What if this is it? What if it all stops right here? What I realized is that, if it all did stop right there, I was okay with that. I'd had a full and rich life. I had my ups and I had my downs, and I had my heartbreaks, and my joys. It wasn't perfect, but it was a good life, and compared to many people, I was very lucky.
What makes my life full and rich? It's that I notice the details of it. The details are a glade of white violets, or rolling thunder, or the moment that a stray dog looked in my eyes and made a conscious decision to trust one last time. Seeing my children for the very first time. The joy of a book. Driving in a truck listening to Verdi. Or the Grateful Dead. Rainbows in Hawaii. A newborn fawn curled up in the forest. The joy of seeing signs of spring after a long winter. Small triumphant moments in motherhood, one after another. Lightning strike in the desert. Watching the sun rise in the mountains of Monterrey Mexico with a very vocal rooster. Being pregnant. My father's moment of death, the grief of that coupled with the grief at knowing there would be no more chances to 'fix' things. Hearing the sound of a bug chewing out of a 2 X 4 and realizing that Thoreau had described the very same thing. Making love. Watching a fire. Lightning bugs. Lilacs. Picking wild asparagus and eating nothing but asparagus until I could eat no more. Freaky people who will run out in the road to save snapping turtles. The day that God made his presence known to me. Hiking out of the woods in the middle of a downpour and meeting the nicest bunch of people while I waited for help. The list goes on and on. I truly could do this for hours, listing small moments that do not mean a dang thing to anyone but me.
I don't know where this 'noticing' comes from, but I know that I've always had it. I remember being a child smelling the Christmas tree and knowing that I would remember that all my life. I remember reading Heidi and crying and knowing that it was good to cry over a book. Laughing over Tom Sawyer and knowing it was good to laugh over a book, and it goes on and on and on.
Seriously, I hope that Stevie is not about to die from boredom, but if she is, I hope that she'll take some time to think. To ponder her life, the richness of it, her own small moments. And if she finds that even after that, something is missing, well, I hope that she takes some time to figure out what to change. Life should be full and rich and if it is not, something is wrong. I'm in the process of making changes to my life right now. It is never too late to re-create.
(and let me know how it turns out...
because I'm not only a sap, but I'm nosy as hell.)