It's December 27th. There are not too many days left of the old year and a new year begins with a fresh start. I love the thought of the "fresh start"...that feeling that comes over me the day after Christmas and I want to clean the house of all the Christmas decorations and push the sofa out away from the wall, scrubbing beneath what has to have been a month's worth of dust that has accumulated underneath.
I was just sitting in my recliner thinking about how reticent I have been to write anything on my blog for such a long time. I seem to fall into that category of "too busy" most days but then when I think about "too busy with what" it makes me wonder: what is important to me and why do I set things aside that I am really interested in?
Last year my Uncle Cy passed away and left me a small amount of money. I had always said that if he did, I would purchase a building for myself that I could call my studio and I would have a private place to create art and just "be". Well, the studio has been set up at the far end of the backyard but much to my dismay I haven't found the time to get out there as often as I would like. I guess I have writer's block but in a more generalized way. It feels more like a time block.
Lately, I have found time to read a new Stephen King novel, attend some art classes at a local facility, and I even had some time to do some pre-holiday baking. I didn't feel rushed either. But I didn't find the time to sit here at my computer and write a post to my blog. And I really don't know why. Is it truly writer's block or is there something more profound to the reason why I don't take the time to write?
The older I get the more selfish I seem to be with my time. I look at my mother who is twenty years older than me and I think how close she has come to the end of her life this past year. She has been in the hospital four times in 2013 and each time took her a little farther down. It takes longer to come back when you are in your eighties. "Bouncing back" doesn't seem to be an option. "Holding your own" is even quite difficult. Perhaps settling for just being here and alive is enough. She doesn't seem to want to learn anything new. She balks at the idea of traveling any longer (too afraid to get on a plane she says). "What have you got to lose?" I think to myself.
Life is a stange gift. When you are young you think that you will live forever and then before you know it, you look back and twenty, thirty, forty years have passed. Before you know it your options have dwindled down to less. Before you know it you don't have the time that you thought you did and you had better get doing all those things you set aside when you were young and had plenty of time.
Time...what a strange word or concept that is. Can I equate time with life? If I have "enough time" does that give me "more life"? Time seems to be a word that was made up to help people understand their limits. There are twenty-four hours in a day so we divide it all up into seconds, minutes and hours so that we can fit enough of what we need to accomplish into those divisions. But life? How do I justify spending my life, my gift? How do I reconcile what I want to do each day, each hour, each second of what I have every day that I wake up and I'm given another "day" (and night)?
I'm thinking that each day that I wake up has to be a fresh new day...a fresh start. I need to wake up with enthusiasm and zeal and ask myself "what do I want to accomplish this day" It doesn't have to be a huge accomplishment. Reading a book all day could be enough. Or relaxing on the front porch with a cup of coffee in my hand, listening to the birds. Or perhaps I would like to learn a new word or create a piece of art. Or do absolutely nothing but realize while doing "nothing" that I am actually doing "something". Something so simple, so special as making a choice. That's really what it all comes down to for me. Choice.
Choice shouldn't be something that is dictated by someone else...only me. After all: it is MY choice, isn't it? How I choose to live each day, how I choose to spend my time, how I choose to live my life...they are all personal. And all personal choices. Each one is a gift. Each one is a FRESH NEW START.
I choose life.
