in my place . . .

So it occurred to me just now that maybe I’m trying too hard. Trying to clean up things so that it’s not left for my daughters to deal with when I’m no longer around. Trying to be creative all the time. Trying to be less materialistic while satisfying yearnings that I have had all my life (like wonderful things for the kitchen.) Then remonstrating with myself for buying more things. Endless repeats.

Trying to make peace with the past by telling myself no one is to blame and also not to blame myself. Trying to make the most of the time I have left. What if that’s a long time–say, ten years or more? Wouldn’t this pace be exhausting and humorless to boot?

But what if it’s tomorrow? So what, I say. I won’t be able to “catch up” or “do more” whether it’s tomorrow or a decade from now. I think I need to chill out. Enjoy this gorgeous day with soft breezes, cool, dry air, the sun out–the house is quiet. Not looking for advice. Not giving advice, for once.

Just feel the pleasure of my life and all the riches it offers up, taken or not. Give up the unhelpful habit of eating the acrid dust of the past. Give up trying to control anyone’s actions but my own. What do you call that? Doesn’t matter because I’m there.

And, I’m here. In my place.