Each Thursday, join me for my once a week practice, Through the Glass Backwards. The title of this series came from my former commute into work, when I took the light rail downtown. Even though I tend to get motion sick easily, I usually ended up facing backwards, watching as the city slipped by. Now that I work from home, these vignettes will be a 200 word glimpse of things I see as the world outside me lives its life, and I am fortunate enough to see, but not necessarily from the light rail window.
I am sitting at our white dining room table. It has flaps on the side that can be raised or lowered, depending on our needs. Before, it always had one side down, due to space. We’re living in a place now that allows the flaps to spread like wings, stretching the table out, inviting dinner parties and long conversations. Usually though, it has my schoolbooks and papers stretching across, a flood of white covered in ink.
Yet, at the start of every day, there is space to clear things to the side. My computer is placed on a flat surface to the side, papers stacked, books placed on top. I pull out my green marbled composition book, college ruled, and write three pages. Most days, my internal monologue is about the list of to dos and where does time go. But sometimes, I get tired of the same old litany, the same worship at the altar of Busyness, and want to go somewhere else. There are moments of clarity, moments when I’ve wiped the sleep out of my eyes and my brain, working to see what is really there.
When I stop trying so hard, internal doors whisper their passwords.
Remember, registration closes tomorrow (Friday, November 16) for the Saturday workshop, “Gratitude.”
This will be the last workshop offered in a live format.
To learn more or to sign up, check out the Current Class Offerings page.