On Maybes

February 20, 2014

Maybes: at the crossroad of no and yes. Mislabeled as indecision.

But really the maybe--when used right--is a coy invitation to synchronicity to do what it will. Maybe you will go out for drinks with friends at the end of the day, or maybe you will do yoga, or maybe you will go home, disappear into a hot bubble bath with nothing but a jazz record, a book, and a finger of whiskey to keep you company. You just don't know which way your maybe will pull you.

It is the thrill of possibility, an unplanned adventure ready to unfold if only you don't quite commit to any other plans just yet. It is the last minute decision to turn left instead of continuing to drive straight ahead in the hopes of catching the bookstore before it closes. This maybe invites the day to lead you where it will.

Maybe. It is the sweet pleasure of being gently pulled in one direction, then another over unimportant decisions: perhaps you will get these antique tea cups or maybe these small ceramic plates. It is the potential of a moment, the split second where you can imagine where your life might go.

It is the safety net, this maybe--safer than a clean no, more relieving than a grudging yes. It hides a multitude of sins and births others. Maybe stretches the gap between what might have happened and what could happen.

Maybe. It is our verbal trickster, stirring up life around us and making us hungry for something new.

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On Visiting the Herb Store

February 16, 2014

You feel like you've stepped into an old apothecary shop. Jars and jars of herbs, dried flowers, gnarly broken down roots, and strange powders line the shelves.

You run your hands across the line of pots, marveling at the wealth of healing magics birthed from the earth. Each herb is a little miracle, made from dirt and sunlight and water--tiny seeds brought to life by sheer willpower and raised through the ground for no other reason than a will to see the light, breathe in the fresh air that tickles their leaves and feeds their roots. These glorious specimens contain the life force of all they sucked in through their roots, all they absorbed through their leaves.

You have a list of herbs you need. More raspberry leaf for women's health, along with some hops and skullcap for a sleepy time tea recipe you are concocting. You allow yourself to be seduced by the jar of nettle leaves, the prickly thing known best for its sting, but is, at heart, a gentle tonic for the system. You also get taken in by rose hips, more robust than the fragile petals of their flower, an unsung nutritional powerhouse.

You watch the herbalists measure out and weigh your selection, while you contemplate how you will use these new herbs in blends and simple steeps. You can't wait to get home and unwrap your little bundles of herbs and pour them into your own jars, your own collection of earth's healing magic.

On a Deli Lunch in the Sunshine

February 14, 2014

It feels like spring. You woke up ready for an adventure, to push aside the pile of essays you have to grade and to just be, at least for the morning.

The first part of the day is spent running important human being errands: the bead and stone store for new crystals to add to your collection; the herb store to stock up on ingredients for a new blend; the chocolate shop...because, well, chocolate is always a good thing.

The morning slowly turns to noon just as your mind turns from errands to lunch. The day calls for an old school meal at a deli counter. You want a tuna sandwich on rye tucked safely inside a basket lined with wax paper next to some decorative lettuce and a pickle spear.

You find there is no more room at the counter, but it is just a well. The sun has lured you outside to a small patio table. The cool air stirs around you and the light kisses your forehead. A man cruises by, the hood of his car down, blasting oldies from his radio. A woman rushes by carrying a bouquet of flowers. A family talks loudly at a nearby table, clearly enjoying each other. A biker zooms down the sidewalk.

And you: you sit at your table in the sun and enjoy your tuna on rye.

On Long Weekends

January 20, 2014

There is no school today. Still, the fact that you get to sleep in on a Monday gives you the sense that you are playing hooky--giving up on rules and restrictions and deciding to play the day away while others toil their way through nine to five (although you love your nine to five too).

The day is an open book. Where to go...what to do?

The sunlight beckons you out of doors, while the kitchen calls you to conjure up meals--here some breakfast quinoa, there a salad safely tucked inside a mason jar, perhaps even some roasted veggies for dinner. You toy with the idea of crafting, coating paper in glitter and ink, wrapping unused jars in ribbon--a holder for your loose buttons and ephemera.

You briefly entertain the idea of getting ahead on your work, from revising old prompts to organizing cabinets--but quickly dismiss the idea. It would only spoil the day. And you know the thought is only brought on by some vague sense that you should be doing something useful, productive, keeping up that facade of busyness.

No, today is not a day for extra work, but for indulging in those weekend-like pleasures Monday doesn't usually afford--a leisurely breakfast, a morning in the kitchen, an afternoon at the park and visiting family. There will be plenty of other Mondays to refine those lesson plans, to enjoy your cruise to work, but for today you savor the long stretch of time rolled out before you that will be filled on a whim, moment to moment, each impromptu plan a distillation of pure enjoyment.

On Long Walks

January 19, 2014

You wake up with an expansive feeling in your chest, a longing to roam to the farthest reaches of your territory. You want the sun on your skin and fresh air to tickle your nose. There is simply nothing to do but wander wherever your feet will take you--perhaps here to the neighborhood bookstore, or there to the park, full of families playing games and couples walking their dogs. All you know is that you must walk until the bright energy in your chest reaches your toes and your whole body sings with the fullness of life.

The birds support this plan, luring out of your home with their playful chatter and accompanying you as you drift through the city, one step at a time. The naked tree branches remind you that it's still winter, although it feels more like the first kiss of spring in the air.

You pause at each turn to consider your next direction; your decisions move you toward an unplanned adventure, the promise of an unexpected delight. Even as you move forward, a part of you is waiting expectantly, longing for a joyful surprise hidden behind each fork in the road, a mystery to be discovered, a hidden gem of something or another to be revealed. Because today your city is more than just a map of routes that get you from A to B, but a nest of haunts and jewels to be savored, lingered over, like a cup of tea on a cold day.

Eventually, when your legs tire and your appetite for an adventure is sated, you wander home, happy with roaming, but happier still to return to your sanctuary, the promise of a hot bath awaiting you.