My new year's resolution this year is to work on enjoying the journey more, instead of always focusing on the destination. I would like to say I am doing just that, smelling the flowers and luxuriating in the gorgeousness of Spring, but I am not. I am doing the usual rush, rush of life and cursing at the obstacles in my way. I seem to never learn.
Yesterday, I was off and had a whole day to just do what I wanted to do. I had thought my journey on Friday would be between my futon and my kitchen. I would knit and enjoy some saved Top Gear episodes. I saw myself as just being with no obligations (in other words I wanted to be very large slug). Instead I had, the horror, to make the choice between two different lunch dates. I know, my life is a torturous thing. Part of me was annoyed that I did not have my day of slugness. However, another part felt elated to have such wonderful choices.
My lunch companion was a friend from my days at Silly Hall. We spent over two hours in that comfortable shared company that needs no effort of congeniality. The conversation ran from the absurd to the melancholic. In all, the time was good and much better than watching TV. We sat by a window and watched the sunny day go by as we chatted. In many ways it was like going back into time when my life was much less cluttered by grief and worry. I just wanted to crawl into that safe warm space and stay there.
I dropped my friend off with hugs and promises to "do this more often." On the way home I was stung by the overwhelming feeling of nostalgia and regret. I guess some journeys are never ending despite how much we try to gracefully move forward. I am left pensive and wishing I had just stayed a slug.