The kids went back to school yesterday and I was beside myself with excitement. I checked one thing after another off of my to-do list. I even folded laundry when I clearly should have been napping. Because day 2 of my wonderfully scheduled life found me crawling back in bed while Chris drove the kids to school. It seems the stomach flu, or allergies, or cancer, just does not want to give up so easily on me.
Don’t get me wrong, there was a certain pleasure to diving back under the covers. This was short-lived bliss, as I had to bring the car in for an oil change at 10. My efficient inner diva propelled me on a 20-minute walk to Macy’s. Shirt returned, check. I noted that my umbrella wasn’t doing it’s job, as the rain seems to be traveling up from the ground today, but still I soldiered on.
Here comes the depressing part of day 2’s scheduled life. I stopped worrying about said rain when I spied the 50-something man laying on the ground to the right of me. Encircled by concerned citizens, this injured soul lie in a pool of blood as the police approached and everyone waited for an ambulance. No, he wasn’t homeless. Just an ordinary man in business attire with a briefcase next to him.
Life is short, folks. Luckily, I saw “Up in the Air” last night and already had pondered the meaningless nature of our lives, since we all end up dead. Thankfully, the journey to the grave can be pleasing if you surround yourself with connections, meaningful connections with charming, lovely people such as George Clooney or the people you gave birth to. I’m not trying to be smug here, or spoil the movie for anyone. Just saying that seeing this man on the sidewalk was upsetting. Of course I called my mother, and told her about the incident after I complained a bit about my virus-plagued body. I know, I am nowhere near perfect, since I forgot why I called her for a full ten minutes of the conversation.
It may seem like I am rambling here. Or that this blog, this new blog with only two entries, actually has no point. I keep casually announcing my blog to people I know. They always ask,”What’s your focus?” This is akin to asking me about my new year’s resolutions. I have a smattering of ideas, ways I could live my life that would make me a better person, but I’m just not sure I can commit, in writing, to a list of resolutions. Last year I chose one word as my new year’s resolution: Breathe. It worked out quite well. I am still alive. And calmer, but I think yoga is the reason for that.
See, I have meandered again. What is the point of this blog? Only time will tell. I wanted to steal the topic of one of my brother’s blogs: to be more positive. Maybe I should have called it “The Happiness Project.” I am guessing there is already a website out there with that title. I do know that I have been thinking about happiness for years, if not for my entire life. My conclusions, though, only take up a few lines of space. I can be pretty happy at least every other day, during a relatively calm year. My friend Dave gets credit for the second conclusion. If we were happy all the time, happiness wouldn’t be so happy, it would be boring. I’m not an expert on any one topic. I can talk about a number of topics, while knowing a minute amount of info about these topics, for a long time. So the topic of this blog isn’t fashion or Obama’s legacy or healthcare. It’s just about my life. It will simply unfold. Namaste.