When my journal fell off the nightstand, it landed open on a page dated March 4 of this year. I had only written a handful of sentences on that page, an inventory of what seemed like a pretty average day. And then, this:
“I am in love with life” seemed a remarkable proclamation from a woman who spent most of her postpubescent life vacillating between melancholy and despair. It’s hard to trace the path that brought me into a love affair with life. Certainly, it wasn’t linear, just as I can’t pinpoint a direct cause for my descent into teenage angst, and later depression. As with most lovers, my relationship with life is complex and multifaceted, yet exquisitely simple at the same time. Life sometimes presents me with experiences and situations I might not have chosen for myself. This relationship thrives on patience, curiosity, and an open mind. Things don’t always unfold the way I plan, but often work out in ways more beautiful than I could have imagined. Sometimes I feel sad, disappointed, frustrated, confused, or even enraged. Often, I find delight and joy. The more I allow myself to relax into a delicate balance of ease and inspiration, the more I experience moments that move me in ways that are beyond words.
THE SNAIL AND THE BEE
It was the snail that caught my eye, nestled into the stem of a wilting wildflower. I step closer to take a picture and notice the bee, which had landed in the center of a daisy. As I watch, she takes flight into the field. I set down my phone and venture further into a sea of overgrown weeds, some decaying, others full bloom. Grass vibrates shades of celadon and jade and tickles the backs of my legs. The movement of butterflies, mimosa yellow and cloud white, stills me enough to see the play of light on green as grass sways in the breeze. I relax the focus of my eyes and begin to notice myself woven into this infinite dance of life, death, decay, renewal, pulsing in the rhythm of now.