Late night musings.
I love the first hints of new life outdoors. Small animals are being born and it’s probably a good time to visit the zoo. Old plants are shooting out young buds of bright green leaves and the blossoms that have died away are starting as small fruits preparing for a summer and fall harvest.
I love the first week of school when kids are in school and I can walk into Target and breathe deeply along with the collective sighs of mothers everywhere that are basking in the first break in a long summer of arts, outings and too many playdates with the consequences of parenting you don’t always agree with and without adult libations.
I love Mondays. I spent many years looking at Friday as the start of my busy time. It was kids coming home and excited about the weekend. It was the start of the yelling and fighting and a house full of boys. It was a weekend of being a short order cook running on too little sleep and breaking up too many fights. Monday was mine and the time when I could recharge and reflect. Now Mondays after a kid free weekend mean my boys come home. After so much silence, I’m excited to see them and hug them and surprise them with random tickles. I love every other Friday for the same reason. But Mondays are special.
I loved being a student at the start of each quarter. I loved the long line for my parking permit where I took the time to make new friends to complain about the line with, and picking out my textbooks in an empty bookstore the day before the quarter began. I loved new pencils and pens and highlighters. I loved index tabs and post it notes in every color being sold. I enjoyed a good syllabus. Most of them were a straightforward itinerary and list of expectations. One was so full of humor that I still have it from some time before 2004.
I’m big on meeting new people. I’m an ambivert with strong introvert leanings. I like it when I push past my shyness into full comfort. I can be intense and a bit too much at times, but I like that being shy is a choice at that point and new meetings and tender beginnings are the best time to see that.
I love a new book. The start of a story in any format is always special, but I love the start of a new hardcover. I love the smell, and the stiff binding. I love the weight of it and the sound of pages clapping closed. I love meeting new characters and paying attention to the differences in the tone of their voice.
I love blank pages because I’m not confined by what I’ve started and the story that hovers in my mind has the space to span widely across my heart, building and breaking in moments that are too large for quiet reflection.
I love it when I meet someone and as we talk I can see that they understand me. It’s not that they can see my point of view, but that there is a shared experience lived independently that binds us into a unique communal camaraderie. The experience helps us to articulate an open rapport, jumping past explanations and into expressions that go beyond what happened and open the door to the meaning we find in the paths we took through it all.