The thing about a bad signal is that it’s often about geography. As in, there is a mountain in the way or you’re in the middle of nowhere. But instead of reflecting on the landscape you blame your phone.
The same is true of relationships.
Let’s say the dude you’re dating leaves a voicemail. You’ve been waiting to hear from him for a while. For weeks. But the signal is cut off and all you hear is, “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you months ago. Bye.”
Before you blame your phone and hyperactively imagine every possible preceding sentence to his send-off, reflect on the landscape. Why did he wait this long to call? Has he done it before? Is he often saying he’s sorry?
If you walk through the woods in your mind, woods that you have walked through before, in reality, in real time, are you imagining those woods? Or are you simply remembering them?
What if I’m walking through those woods, the woods with towering redwoods and the sweet summer smell of dust and needles, as an itty bitty person? I’m still me, just a teeny tiny me. What would I see?
It’s the new growth I like the most. The bright green of new needles that could make for a gently curved bed. I could lie down on the little tree arm and take a nap. It would smell so sweet. So pine-y.
But I like the clover too. The clover that looks like a ground blanket to big people, to usually sized people, but that is a series of umbrellas to me, providing dappled shade at the height of the day. It’s true that the sun doesn’t often get through the canopy, which I can barely see since it’s never-ending. It nearly touches the moon, I think. But when a little light does come through, it makes the clover umbrellas seem like a resort on the shore of the sea in the South of France.
Instead, I am a tiny me in Big Sur, revisiting paths I have walked before, but from a new perspective.
Thanks, Daily Post + photo library.
What do you think about adding entitlement to the list, big guy?
Thou shalt not be entitled. Wait, I think I’m referencing ten commandments language for the seven deadly sins? I’m an atheist, please forgive me. Actually, it doesn’t have much to do with atheism, just ignorance.
That aside, based on yesterday’s t-shirt fiasco and ensuing existential breakdown, I’d like to suggest we all curb our entitlement. It’s getting gross.
Seriously, if we stop thinking about life in terms of what we deserve and start considering that we’re in this together, this would be a more peaceful place. Do you agree? United States, I’m looking at you.
Inspired by the Daily Post.
My adolescent memories smell a bit like jasmine.
Sweet, sweet haze, oh how you seduce me. What are you made of? Eggs, flour and nostalgia. I import my nostalgia mostly from adolescence, a distant land that I remember as carefree, sweet-smelling and filled with hormones that had very vivid imaginations.
My memories from youth are a fusion of invention and reality. They are memories of potential, of what may be possible. My career? Maybe I really can be a triple threat. That boy? Maybe he imagines making out with me too. That trip? Maybe accumulating my driver’s permit miles on a road trip from California to Nebraska will be a poetic metaphor rather than a straight-ahead surge on Interstate 80.
It was after childhood, when everything was emotion, meals and baths.
It was before college, when I lived as though life was a film, a means through which to collect of out-of-body experiences that would make for good stories later.
Adolescence was a sweet time. To like five boys at once and imagine what it would be like to kiss each one. That one in a cabin, that one at the beach, that one at the movies… Imagining was preferable to trying the real thing. That way the memory of wanting lives on, remembered in a sweet haze.
Inspired by The Daily Post.
I’m all about the quirk. What does that mean? Good question. It seems to be a sort of cultural shorthand for cute these days, a sort of sweet, nonthreatening way to be. Do you put together outfits that combine unexpected patterns? Like to sing songs with instruments the size of toys?
That’s not only what I mean when I say I’m all about quirky. To me, being quirky is about being yourself, full tilt. For example, I often like to sing my sentences. I wasn’t even that conscious of it until friends told me it was a habit. Why do I do this? I’m not sure. But it makes life better somehow, helps me deal.
Here are some quirky habits I love in others:
- My husband’s particularity. He will research the right way to do something, anything, everything. See also, “Quirky habits that annoy me.”
- My dear friend Anne, who often reminds me “People are a blend” at the end of a story. People are a blend, Anne!
- My mother’s habit of looking at her hands when she’s moved. I always know she’s about to cry when she checks her cuticles.
Here are some quirky habits that annoy me:
- My husband’s particularity. He will research the right way to do something, anything, everything. See above.
- My impulse to arrange and tidy and clean everything. You know, keep it just so.
- Okay, this one is about hummingbirds. Excuse the anthropomorphism. I know they’re lovely and maybe even sacrosanct, but those birds like to give me a scare while gardening. Do they have to buzz by so closely?
You guys, I really had to struggle to come up with the ones that annoy me. I’m thankful for this prompt for reminding me how good I’ve got it!
Inspired by The Daily Post. Did you enjoy the read? Please consider following my blog for more quirk.