Dude, like, that's totally profound...
I've been reading "Out of Africa" off and on for the last month. Because I think it's very important that you know how terribly smart and literary I am, I'm compelled to tell you it's not the only book I've read during that time. I've also read "Puppy Mudge: Finds a Friend/Has a Snack/Finds his Blanket/Wants to Play", "Time for Bed", "Babies First (Colors/Animals/Alphabet/Body) Board Book". The list goes on, but I think you get the picture. Also, some of those I've read as many as twelve times in one sitting because they're so compelling. Impressed? I bet.
Last night I read the following passage in "Out of Africa": "In fact the more time you can give them, the happier they are, and if you commission a Kikuyu to hold your horse while you make a visit, you can see by his face that he hopes you will be a long, long time about it. He does not try to pass the time then, but sits down and lives." This sentiment really struck a chord with me, because I am just the opposite. If we're not out doing something, anything, then we really aren't living our lives. All of the time spent getting some place doesn't count, it's the being there that does. So often you're told to live today as if it's your last, hinting that you should be out doing something extraordinarily exciting all the time, but what does that really mean? You can't always be jumping out of planes or running with the bulls.
This past weekend we discovered that our digital camera wasn't working, and that for once it wasn't a battery problem. At first I was completely horrified. Here we were, going pumpkin picking and walking along the beach FOR THE FIRST TIME with our kid and we weren't going to be able to document it for posterity with the usual four thousand clicks of the camera. I nearly had a panic attack. Imagine my surprise at discovering it's actually a relief not to have the camera. When I'm trying so hard to document an activity, am I actually taking an active part in it? Before one thing is finished I'm already wrapped up in what's supposed to be coming next or tomorrow or next week. The whole thought of sitting down and living is counter-intuitive. Sitting down isn't living. It's passing time.
Dave and I talk all the time about how when we leave Salem we'll probably have a long list of things that we'll wish we would have done while we were here. It's time to stop listing out all of the things that need to change or be done in order for me to be able to declare myself happy, because I'll never get them all done and they're arbitrary anyway. It's time for me to just sit and live.