The wind is still blowing. It rattles things on the deck as if someone is out there. The howling tires me, draining my vitality. The dishes spread before me. It is habit that saves me and moves me on. Now they are clean and draining on the counter. I get to sit before my keyboard with my cup of tea. I am pondering my feelings and words. How do I describe them? How am I going to deal with them? The wind carries on. A crow caws. I sip my tea.
I discovered yesterday that laundry baskets are not easy to deal with. Even though I was intent in emptying it once and for all, it was still difficult to do. After fiddling around with a few articles, I had to lay it aside again for another time. No use wasting energy when the timing was wrong. Instead I turned to the wall unit and bookshelves in the basement. They are full of stuff and dust as well. Here was a starting point, an opening for a beginning. That’s what most is needed – a beginning.
It is evening. How the day sped by, though I felt slow as molasses in winter. Supper is done and so is my glass of wine. I am tapping the last words to this post. The wind hasn’t stopped its lament. It’s crying still. It was wicked walking Sheba in it but it is done. I am, too, but in a good way. I just had to put one foot in front of the other. Somehow things have a way of taking care of themselves.
The trick with getting anything done is making a beginning. Elementary, my dear, you say. It is at that but a very important elementary point. So we’ve begun, Sheba and I. It is 2:59, not quite 3:00 pm. She rises and whimpers. I said no. Down. She does. We are both sitting, she on all fours, me on the chair. We will wait it out. The minute passes. She rises on her fours. I continue to sit and tap. Patience is a virtue. So is discipline.
I could easily become a hermit given my disposition and inclinations. I know very well it is not healthy to isolate myself socially. I was also brought up and trained to to live properly. Those things have saved me from myself. I always try to do the right thing or else it would nag at me. Even having bad improper thoughts gnaw at my conscience. I could never be a thief but I have sinned.
Sheba passed her test. 3:10 and I reward her with her supper. She is getting it. Obedience and Patience = food. I’m getting it, too. Consistency and Patience = success. Our successes comes slowly and in increments, sometimes sliding back and forth. The furry princess tries and does get on my nerve in the afternoons. At 11 years old she is still full of vim and vinegar. After eating, she energetically humps her bed. Then she wants to play, insisting that I play toss her squeaky toys with her. What a mad house! I lose my patience.
That’s how it is at our house. Most mornings I’m not geared up or look forward to doing anything. Today is a Wednesday, an exercise day. I have breakfast, pack my gym bag, vacuum a room or two and head off to the YWCA. I’m trained by habit and routine. It’s not a big deal or painful as in the beginning. Some ruts are healthy. It get things done. I repeat this every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Sometimes I bored myself writing every day. What could I possibly have to say – every day. It’s a discipline I want to keep up – within reason, of course. It gives me clarity and direction. I hope I am not boring you. I write mostly for myself but I do appreciate the support and readership. I’m now pushing and struggling to increase the length and the quality of my writing. I’m doing the best I can. Today is not a day when words flow. They come slowly after much thought.
Another daily practice I’m doing is my art. It has been dormant many, many years. It came alive last year much to my own surprise. It has been mostly talk on my part. You know how it goes. It’s my passion but I was too this and that – all the usual excuses. It takes very little time to pick up a pencil or a paint brush and art. So that’s what I do every day, a little practice. It takes minutes sometimes, an hour another day. The thing is to begin and do it. I admit starting can be difficult. I just do it.
I could see a light in the distance but I wasn’t sure if I could make it that far. Should I try anyways, not knowing? Should I or shouldn’t I? The tug of war begins. I am worn out before the journey begins.
The light is waning. I am losing resolve. My ugly sister whispers in my ear. Loser, you can’t do it! I do not shush her. I let the words sink in. Is it true that I can’t do it? Would that make me a loser? I feel anger rising up towards her, towards myself.
I breathe. The anger is gone and so is the hesitation. I take one step forward, remembering what my great, great, great forefather said. A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. The light brightens with each step I take. It beckons me forth. I am getting closer and closer. I realize then that the light is a guide and not the end. Success lies in trying and beginning.