Such long days, and so full.I upped myself early to swim. I missed yesterday, so I was excited and trepidatious. I'm not hard. I don't like to be cold. But the pond was calling. A pleasant walk from Highgate had me reaching it in perfect time, only to find that - of course - it was closed due to strikes.
It's funny - just as I'm not hard, I'm not really very zen. I don't do disappointment that well. And I've been tearful again recently, so I wouldn't have been at all surprised to find myself with a wobbly bottom lip. As it was, I had a little chat, along these lines.
I'm disappointed, but it's okay. Maybe I wasn't meant to swim today. Meant to or not, I can't, so no point being upset. I don't feel upset. Don't you? Really? Are you just pretending? No. I'm sorry I'm not going to swim, but I'm glad I got up and the Heath is beautiful and I can go and write in the cafe with that extra time. Brilliant!
So, within about 15 seconds, I was already excited about what I could do instead. If you've only ever been exposed to me through this blog, you might think that was a natural pattern before. Really not. Not from my perspective, anyway. A definite benefit of this blog.
Whatever people say about habits cementing themselves in 21 days, I think it's really true. It seems to be working. I don't deny reactions, but they seem to pass through me quickly. And even when they don't - the Belgian situation sat heavy in my belly for quite a long time - they're still lighter because I've watched them swell or dissipate, and because I'm curious.
I feel like right now, someone is letting me in on something I've read about but never really understood - it's like a dose of enlightenment juice. By that I mean that I don't feel what I thought 'Enlightenment' would feel like. I certainly don't feel immune to things. I fail a lot. I procrastinate. I have anxieties. I feel embarrassed about things and I'm sometimes insecure. I can be tactless and bullish. And I can be warm, laughy, friendly, happy, a little bit infatuated, playful, creative and excited too. None of that has changed. But there's something else present too. Maybe presence itself. There's something different that I didn't have before. Whatever it is, or could be called, I like it. I want to keep it up. It's really good.
So up on the heath (oh, you inconsistent thing. Sandison, I'd really like your help on the Heath/heath business)... I stopped to watch the sun. It was poking up through a bare tree, over a bit of a hill-brow. In the distance were London tallnesses and inbetween them and the woods, a buffer of low cloud. I waited with my eyes closed (I remembered what Nigel the cameraman had said about watching sunrises) and I did a meditation from that workshop a week or two ago. In that, you pretend the sun is shining on you. Well it was. Surely that's just as good. Better, even.
I opened up again to see it rising in the sky, then moved on, exploring a bit and dropping down by the Mixed Pond. I didn't have a plan. I'd already wandered a while on the Heath and anyway, without a key, you can't get in. But then, from behind two stony-faced fishermen, I saw naked people on the banks and bobbing heads (with hats) in the water. I thought I'd try my luck.
I hung around at the gate until someone came - a man on a bike - and let me sneak in with him. You're not allowed to swim unless you've paid for membership, mainly because of insurance. There was a legal battle, apparently, a few years ago. It was nearly banned, people swimming unsupervised, but this was the compromise - only with membership, only with at least one other. But it was Just Too Tempting. And I stuck to half.
Thing about the winter mixed pond is, the luxuries of showers, hot water, indoor changing aren't on hand. They're there, but locked up for the winter, so it's back to what ladies used to do a few years back - just strip, costume, dip, strip, dress and go. Oooohhhhhh. It was ace. Delicious. Cold and leafy. And such a bonus, as I'd already accepted I wasn't going to swim. The man who let me in hung back a bit to make sure I got out. Thank you, pond man. What a nice thing to do.
It's funny how things you think would be embarrassing - communal nakedness with polite strangers within sight of the main path - just seem entirely normal. And that old nudity chestnut, the imbalance between dressed people and naked ones during conversations. Just not an issue here. Compartments. Context.
So, what a start. Then a quick write in Hampstead, a bumble to Islington, a bit of not really work, a meeting with a German improviser who wants to run a workshop - I said no to running it for him, but I think the outcome worked for both of us. It didn't seem rude, anyway. And thank you, Klaus Peter, for paying for my coffee. You didn't have to, but I really appreciated it.
Oooohh... quick nod to the gratitude rut. I've had a situation where I've been doing some stuff for free for someone. It's involved a few meetings, a few exciting chats, quite a lot of me travelling quite far to get to somewhere convenient for that person, and spending quite a lot of time. All of which is fine.
Every time we meet somewhere - a bar or cafe - that person looks so uncomfortable that I have to fight myself not to say 'I'll get these'. He's even made it really clear he'd rather not shout me a drink, because of his budget. Now, that'd be okay if he didn't then buy himself a whole heap of stuff and consume it in front of me. Aha, what am I indulging in? A sense of entitlement! In my world, I feel it would be only polite for him to offer, just once, to shout me a drink. And I'd do the same, happily.
But by focusing on that, I'm missing the good bits. I'm feeling a little tension in my belly of 'gaaaahhhh, that's annoying'. And actually, it's not my right at all, nor his obligation. And even if it was, I'm having a worse time by focusing on my projected 'should' for him than I would if I just either let it go or even said 'ooh, thanks, I'll have a pop'. I mean that's the thing. I'm cheap. Cheap as hell. I don't go harder than pop or herb tea most of the time. I'm not a triple-whisky-when-someone-else-is-paying type.
Ha - there I go again. Entitlement. Agree with me, I'm saying, this is wrong. Be on my side. Whatever's true, it doesn't change a thing. This isn't what a gratitude practice looks like at its best - judging others for not seeming grateful (that's another thing - no thank you - that bothered me and I spent far too long focussing on it), for their perceived sense of entitlement, or for their choices. There are options: don't go back. Ask for what you want. Make things clearer. But resentment isn't one of the best, and it really doesn't help.
I'm grateful for Ruth's continued recovery, and that she's back. I'm grateful in anticipation of getting back my bike tomorrow, my sweet bike. Please allow yourself to be released and come back to me. I want you back.
I'm grateful for hard-working, idea-outpouring, creative Rob, for Kate - I'm missing her, for Lilley and Daniel, for Juliet (oh, Juliet, I didn't call, I'm sorry), lots of work, and for a positive outcome promised in the tricky 'Belgian situation'.
I'm grateful for a very tasty supper, full of garlic. Oooh, my breath. And cooked for me by Ruth's sister Ann, who is caring for her so well.
I'm full of thanks for yoga thoughts, and happy for that. And for patience, mine and other people's. And for some truly wonderful opportunities - we can do our workshop next Tuesday - impro, playing, stuff. Maybe another mask thing. People adding themselves to the mask weekend (now just the Sunday), so we'll ahve a healthy-sized group and more fun to play.
And for late night internet tonight. Thank you, Ruth, for this and so much more. I am truly grateful.
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