Self-Realization

I think a lot. Probably not a surprise to anybody who knows me, but I for those of you who don't know me in person: I have a difficult time turning off my brain.

While walking around the canal area (see the previous post), I thought about the Thoreau's line from Walden (made famous to my generation through Dead Poets Society), that he wished to "live more deliberately." There are things that I truly enjoy, that I find I deny myself (and thus deny others the benefit of a happier version of myself). I love the experience of writing. Not typing, although that's the medium I usually use, but writing.

Paper.
A fountain pen.
A clean table.
Candlelight.

I used to give myself just ten minutes, although sometimes it stretched into a longer period, to write. Thank you notes, actual letters, my journals.

Why do I not give myself this time anymore? The messy house is my typical excuse; unfortunately, it's part of life with three young children, especially when there is no dishwasher or clothes dryer. But when did I choose to deny myself pleasure?

I can't pinpoint a moment. I can't pinpoint a reason I made this choice. But I can live deliberately. I won't go off into the woods. I won't build a house out of pieces of someone's old shanty. I won't limit myself to one table and chair.

But I choose to remember that the pleasures I give myself are what lead to a life beautifully, deliberately, lived.