SOMETIMES, I’M JUST TIRED
It’s been a while since I have written. Life, sometimes, gets busy. We don’t get to do those things which fills us, soothes us, inspires us, all the time. We get so busy trying to live, we forget about the actual act of living. That might not be a bad thing. It allows us to appreciate it when it shows up. Life is tiring. It really can be.
I have friends….
I have some friends—well—maybe more of acquaintances—who travel a lot. They pack up and go to Europe or the Azores or Mexico or even a short trip to Vegas. I get that, but the idea of trips like that actually make me tired. I wouldn’t mind going, but it’s the labor of it. Then, you get there, and you must work at speaking to someone who speaks, well, Azorean.
I’ve kinda always been like that. Friends in high school would come over on a Friday or Saturday night and I would be in my jammies and bathrobe by six. Don’t judge me. I was comfortable.
Going out to eat is kind of the same thing. I can eat duck liver pate as well as the next guy. I know what the spoon is by its placement next to or at the top of the plate. I can order the right wine for the right meal, and I never put a napkin in the top of my shirt unless I am doing dental surgery. But all that kind of makes me, well—tired.
I’m not giving up….
I do like it occasionally-eating nicely. Something with a view. I am not giving up on Europe. I like history so Italy and Greece would be fun, sitting around with some elders of some small-town drinking ouzo out of a juice glass while they teach me bocci ball. Then, dancing with our arms on each other’s shoulders that dance the drunk Greeks do. We would laugh and hug and swear we would write.
I would like to go to Scotland. They, at least, speak a form of English. Find a pub at the foot of the Castle in Edinburgh and sing sea chanties with the locals. I don’t know any sea chanties so I would have to make some up. Maybe on the plane ride over.
Where is God in all this? Right there with me. He knows me better than I know myself. He enjoys me and meets me where I need to be met, like on a bench in a small Colorado town. Or, maybe, right here while I write to you.
I could go to Colorado and sit on a bench in a small town I know. Just sit. Watching the world move by one car or Meadow Fresh truck at a time. Maybe a horseback ride into the thin air, just me and the horse, learning each other’s names and talking about what we like do when we both grow up. Horses know things, like dogs. They’re just great big giant dogs.
But today, I find pleasure listening to the Meditation-Massage station on Pandora and writing, a cup of good coffee, and two snoring dogs while we enjoy the approaching sunrise.
That’s good enough for now.