Of Whimsical Depth

I’m taking a new route home for my commute tonight. I think it will take 20-30 minutes longer than my normal route. Those of you who know me well are howling just at the moment. “She complains about the normal length of her commute, and now she’s making it longer?” Yes. I’m making it longer. Not permanently, just occasionally. I’m going to take a bus instead of the walk and two trains I’ve been previously taking.

Why, you ask? Well, because I find myself in desperate need of space to simply sit and read, simply sit and think, to simply be, without dozens of things staring me in the face and muttering under their breath about how I should really be doing that laundry, or washing those dishes, or reading something constructive. And I’ve always found the bus a brilliant place to create space. You pop your headphones in (whether you turn them on is up to you!) and avoid making too much eye contact with those nearby, and people pretty much leave you alone. You can people watch, eavesdrop, read, stare out a window and think, write in a journal, or simply be.

I feel like many things in my life have been swirling around me at breakneck speeds, and it’s affecting my mental clarity. So tonight, I’m going to take an hour and a half or thereabouts on the bus and simply sit. I’m going to slow down all those other things clamoring to be done because I can’t do them from the seat of the bus anyway, and I’m going to read a novel, and I’m going to breathe, and I’m going to reflect on the things that have been swirling at the edges of my consciousness that I wrote about this morning. I’m going to watch people, and let my mind wander in a restful sort of way. (See, when I put it like that, you all want to spend an hour and a half on the bus too, don’t you?)

When I get home, I’m going to make myself dinner – either soup, or nachos – depends on what my stomach thinks – I’ll ask it when we’re getting close to home. The conversation will go something like this. I’ll say “What would you like for dinner tonight?” And my stomach, which has been debating the two options all day today will say either, “I’d really like some more of that soup you made last night, with the green beans and carrots in it, and maybe you could add some peas tonight.” Or it will say, “You know, I think a plate of nachos sounds great – with maybe some green onion and red and yellow peppers if there are still some in the fridge.” And then my very talkative stomach will probably suggest (I’m guessing here, but it’s a guess based in experience) that I might like to round the meal out with either an oatmeal raisin cookie, baked by my grandma, and stored in my freezer, or with something containing copious amounts of chocolate (of which I have a few different options stashed away.)

After dinner, I have plans that include lighting some candles, folding laundry while watching some tv on dvd, possibly hanging some art in my bedroom (finally!), calling a good friend in another city for a catching up and praying together sort of chat, and paging through either some scrapbooking magazines or a cookbook that I got at the library, to find ideas for future evenings.

Have I mentioned that I find great beauty, joy and peace in the most mundane and whimsical things of life? In the errands, the quiet evenings at home, the little moments of accomplishment, the conversations with my stomach, the extended commute designed to create space to breathe?