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Topic One: Drifting Things
Oct. 30th, 2021 03:36 pmPrompt one: "There are things that drift away like our endless, numbered days."
There are things that drift away, and there are things that need a good ol' shove with a boot to shove them on down that stream because I am done, seriously done with them.
One secret to life I believe is knowing that drifting happens. It does. It happens to everything. It happens to my good, precious treasured things, memories, moments, even people. It happens (or happens with some encouragement from a boot) to some things that need to drift away, certain memories from my son's teen years for one, or my ex-husband, certain bills, or jobs. Some things need to leave. And boy do they drift, just gently leaving while I blow from the shore, "Faster, faster, get out of here!" But they drift.
I guess part of the drifting comes from the speed of the current or waves that day. When my days are fast, the drift exchange can be high, New York Stock Exchange high, "Do I here 3 hours of M's time up for sale? Sold, Gone! Do I hear this many dollars? New tires? Sold, gone." Money, time. It drifts in, it drifts out. I look up, and the clock says it's time for bed. Time for bed? I'm only 3 items down on my list for today!
But the reality in life isn't the things, it's the drift. Drifting happens. It's like when you are gently floating near the shore. It's beautiful, relaxing, oh man, love this moment. But better hang on, or throw out an anchor or something! If you can't learn to hang on, this moment of bliss becomes this moment of endless screaming terror because the other secret in life is not only that you will drift, but you also don't get to pick the direction. I might be drifting by the shore, and then suddenly be drifting further and further out in a stormy sea of "Dad's in surgery and guess what, all you can do is wait."
We can't control the drifting or the direction. I guess our best bet is, when the sea is calm, to somehow be a good Boy Scout and be prepared. Lay in supplies. Learn a useful skill for heaven's sake that doesn't involve typing useless thoughts and shoving them into the eyes of anyone crazy enough to click on my journal. I mean, intelligent enough. Only the best drift over here.
I digress. I guess what I meant is, if I've learned anything it's that any skill MIGHT come in handy. Any supply will likely drift away, probably one hour before you need it. That said, if you laden your life boat with too many supplies, you will drift alright, but it's this drift to the bottom of the ocean. It's breathtaking really, but that's the problem. It's breath TAKING.
I, for one, am glad things drift away. It gives me hope in the dark, depressing, gloomy, stinking times. Those will one day drift away, and I will smell new fresh air again.
But the drifting also gives me incentive to notice. To notice all these precious wonderful moments that will, one day, drift away.
I've learned the value isn't in how long something lasts, but in how much I treasured it while it existed. How much I treasured that glance, that hug, that kiss, the smell of that fresh pie, that smile, the voice of my grandma.
And I've learned to not treasure (ie, dwell on) those hard, horrible times. I try to remember the smiles and jokes more than the fights and blood from my work in an alternative school. Let the blood and heartache in life go. Let it drift from my mind faster than it left my life.
I try to remember the drift. Let me treasure that right this very moment, the roof isn't leaking on my head. I have internet to post this entry, fingers that work to type my words with. The neighbor in my apartment above me is walking (tap-dancing?) around, but not yelling or screaming or shooting each other. I notice their noise, but I don't have to decide if this is a "call the police" time.
I can sit right now as I type. I've had jobs where I stood all day long, and by a day, I mean eight hours. That's with one restroom break, if I was lucky.
I'm sitting. I'm breathing. This time too will drift away from me. But later, when some idiot cuts me off in traffic, I will let that anger drift. I will try to drift back in my mind to this moment when all that mattered was the words, the page, and knowing some people might read this. I will drift to my gratitude that sometimes, somewhere there are people who listen.
Thanks for drifting along with me today.
There are things that drift away, and there are things that need a good ol' shove with a boot to shove them on down that stream because I am done, seriously done with them.
One secret to life I believe is knowing that drifting happens. It does. It happens to everything. It happens to my good, precious treasured things, memories, moments, even people. It happens (or happens with some encouragement from a boot) to some things that need to drift away, certain memories from my son's teen years for one, or my ex-husband, certain bills, or jobs. Some things need to leave. And boy do they drift, just gently leaving while I blow from the shore, "Faster, faster, get out of here!" But they drift.
I guess part of the drifting comes from the speed of the current or waves that day. When my days are fast, the drift exchange can be high, New York Stock Exchange high, "Do I here 3 hours of M's time up for sale? Sold, Gone! Do I hear this many dollars? New tires? Sold, gone." Money, time. It drifts in, it drifts out. I look up, and the clock says it's time for bed. Time for bed? I'm only 3 items down on my list for today!
But the reality in life isn't the things, it's the drift. Drifting happens. It's like when you are gently floating near the shore. It's beautiful, relaxing, oh man, love this moment. But better hang on, or throw out an anchor or something! If you can't learn to hang on, this moment of bliss becomes this moment of endless screaming terror because the other secret in life is not only that you will drift, but you also don't get to pick the direction. I might be drifting by the shore, and then suddenly be drifting further and further out in a stormy sea of "Dad's in surgery and guess what, all you can do is wait."
We can't control the drifting or the direction. I guess our best bet is, when the sea is calm, to somehow be a good Boy Scout and be prepared. Lay in supplies. Learn a useful skill for heaven's sake that doesn't involve typing useless thoughts and shoving them into the eyes of anyone crazy enough to click on my journal. I mean, intelligent enough. Only the best drift over here.
I digress. I guess what I meant is, if I've learned anything it's that any skill MIGHT come in handy. Any supply will likely drift away, probably one hour before you need it. That said, if you laden your life boat with too many supplies, you will drift alright, but it's this drift to the bottom of the ocean. It's breathtaking really, but that's the problem. It's breath TAKING.
I, for one, am glad things drift away. It gives me hope in the dark, depressing, gloomy, stinking times. Those will one day drift away, and I will smell new fresh air again.
But the drifting also gives me incentive to notice. To notice all these precious wonderful moments that will, one day, drift away.
I've learned the value isn't in how long something lasts, but in how much I treasured it while it existed. How much I treasured that glance, that hug, that kiss, the smell of that fresh pie, that smile, the voice of my grandma.
And I've learned to not treasure (ie, dwell on) those hard, horrible times. I try to remember the smiles and jokes more than the fights and blood from my work in an alternative school. Let the blood and heartache in life go. Let it drift from my mind faster than it left my life.
I try to remember the drift. Let me treasure that right this very moment, the roof isn't leaking on my head. I have internet to post this entry, fingers that work to type my words with. The neighbor in my apartment above me is walking (tap-dancing?) around, but not yelling or screaming or shooting each other. I notice their noise, but I don't have to decide if this is a "call the police" time.
I can sit right now as I type. I've had jobs where I stood all day long, and by a day, I mean eight hours. That's with one restroom break, if I was lucky.
I'm sitting. I'm breathing. This time too will drift away from me. But later, when some idiot cuts me off in traffic, I will let that anger drift. I will try to drift back in my mind to this moment when all that mattered was the words, the page, and knowing some people might read this. I will drift to my gratitude that sometimes, somewhere there are people who listen.
Thanks for drifting along with me today.
