thought digest №2: indulgent
If I were the romantic-type, fated ruin, and other matters of the heart
These digests (shared quarterly), are a collection of unresolved thoughts, broken-off ideas, gentle moments or reminders, lessons I’m continuing to learn, and anything else that might be worth noting between now and then.
Nothing fully formed. No tidy bows or complete endings. Just a place to begin.
3/18/24: Coffee retrieval (something overlooked)
I carefully step through the small crack I’ve allowed myself between the door and the doorframe, promising the cats: soon, but not yet. After zipping up my sweatshirt, I tuck my pajama pants inside a pair of borrowed xtra tuff boots, and make my way across the damp, sun-less lawn. Once inside, a chorus of squeaks lets me know that Pip (the newest member of our cat family) is available for pets.
With Pip occupying one arm, I fill my to-go mug with coffee, promising him that I’ll be back soon. Outside, the sun is spreading across the lawn and the dew-covered grass glimmers against the first rays of the day.
After pausing to stretch and admire my surroundings, I retrace the same steps I took 15-minutes ago, and head back toward the other two cats, praising their patience as I slip in through the door: soon, but not yet.
3/20/24: Bob’s birthday (tending to)
My grandpa’s birthday was (or still is, depending on how you choose to look at it) either just before, or just after the first day of spring (and sometimes, somewhere in between).
And on this particular day of this particular year and in this particular part of the world, bursts of yellow daffodils and red tulips and pink blossoms and white puffy clouds and choppy waves and the smell of rain and growth and dirt and decay, once again, mark the beginning of something new. Of something remembered.
3/21/24: A solo walk (wide open spaces)
The hill is steep, my legs aching by the time I reach the top and look out over the vast expanse of green. Of apple trees framing the distant blue of the water and the boats that sway back and forth (and back and forth), while the waves rise and fall (and rise and fall), sparkling in the late-afternoon sun.
I pause the audio book I’ve been listening to and close my eyes and catch my breath and hear children playing and dogs barking and mowers starting. Eventually, I keep moving. Eventually.
3/22/24: Good food and the people you love (creating your own ecosystem)
We talk about what we might get her for her birthday. About how absurdly good this spinach is. About the buttery-ness of the fish and the evening light on the table and the way it brings out all the dust and the crumbs from yesterday’s meal.
We eat every last bite and then we decide that we’ll have some more, and yes, that cake looks delicious, is that frosting homemade? We clear the table and stack the dishes and begin the process of hands passing, hands washing, hands loading, hands drying. And then it’s done and we’re in the living room eating cake and holding our stomachs and laughing about something I can’t remember.
3/24/24: Conversations with friends (and the older you get)
Our usual 6-hour-long catch up was hijacked by a painting project, but then we got really into that painting project, taking it upon ourselves to continue our catch up between brush strokes and water breaks and conversations with the other participants of this day-long activity.
Eventually, the sun began to set and our respective dinner plans came into view, so we said see you soon. And then life happened and I drove back home and she went back to work and we didn’t get to finish our conversation, but I think that’s just how it is sometimes, and that the older you get, the more ok you are with what you are able to do with the time that you have.
3/29/24: Watching a show by yourself in the late afternoon (feeling indulgent)
It’s 4:00pm, and I’m on the sofa with Pip (the cat), sun streaming in through the window behind me, making the screen difficult to see, but I’ve made up my mind: I’m not going to leave this room for the next hour.
I’m going to make myself a fancy drink and put it in a fancy glass and watch One Day, a show that people keep saying will ruin me. About two episodes in, my sister-in-law rushes in through the door and says, ‘ohhhh, that show is so intense,’ before grabbing whatever it is she stopped by for, and slipping back out the door.
This incident did two things. It made me feel wildly indulgent (her out there doing all the things, and me inside, not doing all the things), and yet, it didn’t stop me from continuing. And now that I’m home and have fallen back into my after work reading routine, the final episode of One Day has been unintentionally abandoned (and with it, my fated ruin).
3/30/24: Getting from one place to another (being alone, together)
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about my relationship to driving, especially these past few years. About how much I do it. About how I’ll probably keep doing it. About the problem with using gas. About the problem with going electric. About how there’s no perfect solution. About how I love the process of queuing up an audio book the night before, packing up the car morning-of, and making a coffee for the road. About how I don’t want to love it as much as I know I do.
4/1/24: The opinions of others (and the weight they can carry)
To care what others think of you is one thing. To care so much that you will do anything to meet their expectations and their idea of who they think you should be, is another. I have no solution to this, only that I’d like to keep reminding myself that when it comes to matters-of-the-heart, your own opinion, and how you choose to express it, should carry the most weight.
4/4/24: Learning new things (how it still feels far away)
It is widely known that art is not based in fact, but in emotion and feeling and a perspective that only the maker or viewer or participant can hold, and it usually works best if you aren’t constantly worried about what the person next you might think (or, alternatively, to reach a point where your opposing views can exist in the same space, and the conversations that follow, may allow for a better understanding of a perspective that isn’t just your own).
Being a writer who has, for the most part, existed outside of the traditional structure of the classroom, has challenged me to re-discover what it means to be a student to my pursuits (safe to say, trusting in my own unique way of learning, is something that I will forever be chipping away at).
4/6/24: The calm after an emotional storm (almost exactly like when the sun comes out after a heavy rain)
Just because I now know more about my moods and the way they move through my body, picking up dust and debris and whatever else isn’t tied down, doesn’t mean I will forever be navigating through the howling winds and the flying objects and the torrential downpours, with unwavering patience and understanding toward my unpredictable self.
And no, I do not always take the time to tie things down in between changes in weather, because sometimes I’d rather be playing with my dog or writing or reading or learning or going on long walks with friends where I try my best to not worry about when the next storm will hit, but rather, what it feels like to be here with them.
4/7/24: 10-year anniversary (and a heart that exists outside my body)
If I were the romantic-type, I would tell you about how we met. About how I was 22 and knew very little about what I wanted, only that I liked being with him and he had a dog that was difficult, but once I had won him over (the dog, that is), I thought yes yes yes, this feels like home.
EPILOGUE
With dark clouds looming overhead, we’ve kept the lights on all day and the windows cracked, letting in the smell of earth and rain and the sound of bird song. I’ve been distracted this week, finding it difficult to expand on thoughts or ideas, and frustrated by the amount of times I hit delete.
Today (now many days ago), I told myself that I’d work on this piece for an hour, even if half that time was spent staring at the wall behind my computer. At the way the lamp turns it from a robin’s egg blue, to a deep sea green.
Doing what I originally set out to do, I set aside my expectations and used the snippets of information that I had previously gathered, to write something (and not something that I think is especially great or profound or clever, just something I can hold and go ok, I can work with this).
With love,
Chloe
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"but once I had won him over (the dog that is)" <3