I missed mass this morning so I went to work feeling a bit out of sorts, knowing that there was something essential missing in my ritual. Nevertheless, as the morning wore on, I realised that there was more to the day that met the eye.
I know I grumbled yesterday about being a bit impatient about the way things were going in my life. Half a year is gone, it is behind me now, and there is nothing I can do about it.
Aim for new heights!
That is my mantra for this month. It is a new quarter, the midway threshold has been crossed, and I desperately want to believe that things can only get better from here on.
Embracing the unexpected is my specialty. I am rarely tied down to a place or things, but am no tumbleweed either. For decades I wailed about how my lack of permanence in one place was so frustrating, envying people who grew up in one town and established deep roots in a particular community. Now I realise what a great advantage it is to have the lifestyle I have, to be so unattached. Sure, I don’t have the security of owning a house and probably never will, but that is something that I have learned to love. I am not tied down to or by a piece of real estate, nor am I imprisoned by familial obligations. I am essentially free as a bird to come and go as I please, pack up whenever I feel an inherent need to move on.
The constant mobility during my youth led me to believe that it would be absolutely wonderful to stay put somewhere and grow old there. Now the very thought of that horrifies me, as I harbour illusions of moving from country to country to write a book in each one. The insider perspective of a resident instead of a tourist is something very fundamental to my adjustment as well as my writing.
So I am pulling another Hemingway this evening, sitting in a restaurant in a lovely corner somewhere in the middle of Berlin, waiting, savouring the smells, the noises, the strange conversations all around me, and simply being.