Yesterday I tramped up and down 14th Street poking through furniture shops until I found the perfect vanity stool. I probably looked a little pathetic carrying it all the way to St. Thomas circle, but I'm so happy I found it. I bought a few records (one is a folk album produced by Arthur Garfunkel—we'll see how that turns out) and a few pieces of costume jewelry before Sarah and Chelsie picked me up and we went properly shopping.
It was gray and cold and damp, but it was a perfect weekend in every way.
Early this morning I felt compelled to ask Hilary Funk for life advice. Honestly the woman should be my life coach.
She's given me an exercise: Go a few days letting things that happen, just happen.
Well there's an idea.
Don't assign value to them or create a grand narrative.
But I assign a value to everything.
Notice how we don't have to have input all the time, that sometimes laying off makes our lives more peaceful and (yes) gratifying. Not everything has more meaning than we want it to.
Let's just introduce the elephant in the room, shall we?
I think entirely too much about everything. Everything. Absolutely, positively, everything.
Shocking, I know.
In every quiet moment—walking home, riding the train, curled up in bed, washing dishes—I am reflecting on something, assigning value to every turn of phrase, weighing possible outcomes. Everything has a meaning. Right? Wrong.
I need to learn how to relax.
And that, dear readers, is how I spent an hour this morning reflecting on how I should stop being so pensive all the time.
