T H O U G H T / under the shade of bleached bamboo
We only have a tiny window but the white light floods the room.
I wake with a headache. A feeling of not quite belonging anywhere within the gallery. I pad barefoot from room to room. I retreat back to the bedroom with my laptop and a book that I have dug out from my cavernous backpack.
I spend thirty minutes or so ‘figuring’ out what to do with my day. So many places to see. So many photos to take. So many streets to wander. I analyse every café, every restaurant, every town, every beach. Images and written word captured by those before me – living.
I take in as much as I can before tiring. Exhausted by the possibilities, the conflicting reviews and the pressure I have placed upon the hours yet to unfold. The headache.
I stop. Closing the laptop. I read. I pause, bringing attention to this moment.
In the face of subjective truth we must resist the danger to over-analyse. Yes, there may be better ways of spending our day. I may save ten minutes later in the day yet to be lived by researching how to locate beaches, cafes and parking. That research costing me three times over. Is it not best just to start living? Living is accepting that things may not go smoothly, our day may not be quite to our pleasing, it may not be as perfect as we had hoped for, we order a disappointing meal, we may get lost, yet we may stumble upon a great surprise. A treasure.
There is more to be found in accepting and letting go. There may be disappointment and wonder. What I know for certain amongst the uncertain; that I shall experience more in the moments outside of the gallery door today.
There is a danger of losing touch with the basic goodness of what I am part of now by reducing, through analysis and critique of what lies before me to simply ‘good’ or ‘bad’. I am in Italy. With my best friend. The sun is shining. On the terrace, under the shade of bleached bamboo, I drink coffee now amongst the white roofs and television antennas. Listening to church bells chime and Vespas navigating the narrow streets below.
Are you sometimes guilty of losing the basic the goodness of the moment?
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