Wonderment

Ok, I have a feeling that this is going to be long, because it’s been ages since I attempted to write in this format. And also, that there is going to be a great deal of randomicity. And also perhaps some making up of words.

Where has the last year gone? The question is virtually irrelevant. I cannot explain it, unless I set out to write a book. Even that would be a ridiculous effort, because upon finishing it, I would stare at it and realize that in the middle my perspective had changed. Major re-write in order. Ultimately, I would never read it and would probably be tempted to burn it just for the joy of watching it smoke. Deleting a blog is unfortunately not nearly as satisfying, or else this would have been toast.

These days I only do what is good for my mind, for the simple fact that I can and that I can label it as part of my recuperation process from said unintelligible year. Is this a selfish process? Entirely. But it is a necessary one. I have operated at my limits for so long, it’s hard to find a satisfactory middling point. And that’s what this is about.

It has only been in the last two weeks that I have started to feel any sort of my old energy back. When I first got out here, I slept about 15 hours a day not including naps and was tired whenever I was not sleeping. About two to three weeks ago was the first time I was able to stay awake all day. It was a major milestone.

Much of my time thus far has been devoted to reflecting and cultivating parts of myself that have been closed off for a long time simply because I have been too busy to allow them to flourish. During my last semester in graduate school, a very astute and concerned former student of mine pointed out, “You’re letting them kill you. NEVER let them get your spirit.” I hate feeling dull and beat down and typical. It’s not me.

Consequently I do whatever I perceive to be good for me, and nothing more. (Including talking in circles) If something is not a vital part of my re-discovering, it gets shelved. I had forgotten a lot of things about myself: the good and the questionable and the interesting and the mundane. Of course, when you go poking around in the backyard you never know what you’re going to find. I’m reminded of when my parents were house hunting and there was one particular house that had a small mound out back. The previous owner had buried their horse there. I was equal parts frightened and anxious to excavate.

The biggest result of the time I have taken so far is that my sense of wonder has returned. This is something I thought I had utterly lost along the way. As example, today I spent quite a while thinking about a small bathtub boat I saw at the grocery store a while ago. It has a crank on the top and a little rudder that moves and costs $2.99. For some reason, I am totally entranced by this boat and all the different places I want to crank it up and let it go. I decided that if I get the boat the first place I am going to take it is the Jacuzzi so I can turn on the jets and see what happens.

G.K. Chesterton apparently likes to talk about wonder, among other things. I recently began reading a book about him with the expectation that I could converse with him, mostly through the use of a large black felt tip pen. But I’m not going to do that to a library book. I think this may be the only thing that we agree on. Perhaps I will be surprised. I’m only on page 34.

Today I was playing a version of one of my favorite games which involves driving around aimlessly in my car. I am trying not to do this because it offends my ecological sensibilities and my car is fairly infirm and could die at any minute (but that is another story). Today I could not stop myself. I went exploring in a new area of town and while I was over there, I saw a homemade bumper sticker that someone had placed on their car. It said “well behaved women seldom make history.” Immediately an image of Margaret Thatcher on a stripper pole came to mind. I have been thinking about possible alternative meanings for the bumper sticker, including some other mildly naughty ones, for the whole day. That and the boat. And whether or not it is possible to soundproof a Mini Cooper so that I can effectively create a sweet sonic barrage inside without the rest of the world knowing. And if I were to get a Mini Cooper, what color I would get. And whether I would want stripes. And how I want to be able to drive stick without being a danger to other drivers on the road (also another story).

Now I’m wondering if Simone De Beauvoir could drink Sartre under the table. Or if Golda Meir could have ever seen herself as a street fighter. Ok, I’m stopping now.