At long last, the plows are finally out in force now here in Ohio. Yesterday was a near perfect day off from the-job-that-lets-me-buy-things-like-toilet-paper (thank Lydia for that description!) culminating in a goregous sunset, a new (& exciting) freelance gig, and the soft purr of the tractors pulling disc plows down my street, headed towards home after a day in the fields. This, folks, is the stuff bliss is made of, and I wouldn't have seen it if I wasn't standing still.
Too often my days off are filled with the rushing, chores and errands that keep this homestead thriving, so much so that when I find myself not needing to dash off to the grocery or pet store, I often have to actually try hard to remember that my days aren't meant to be based just on consumption, whether that's measured in time or material things. It's hard to do in a world where every waking moment is a barage of commercials, every flat surface a billboard for "progress". It's times like this, in the stillness, that we have a glorious opportunity to pause and reflect on whether we need more material things at all and what the real reasons might be behind a compulsion to shop.
I'm a victim in this game sometimes myself, teetering on that great grey line between "prepared" and "hoarding". (See my post about yarn if you've forgotten.) Though I'm pretty thrifty, I have times where there's more week left than paycheck and I drive with my fingers crossed that I have the whole red rectangle before the tank's really empty. It was so nice, then, that this week there was one more day off than usual, one day usually spent at work, that afforded me some quality time for rest, a good book, and, of course, some gardening, while still getting paid. (There are small bits of good in corporate America after all...)
I'm discovering that there's a lot of beauty right here, right where I already am, if I slow down and shut off the ads in my head long enough to really listen and look. There's reminders right here that I have all that I need. Bet you'll find it too if you can learn to see peace instead of impatience in the orange triangle on the rear of a plow.
Like my dad always says (but sometimes forgets to practice too), slow down. You'll live longer.