On Observing

 Lately I’ve been trying to observe. I feel like I’ve been “doing” less, but that’s because I’m trying to observe the life happening around me. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I’m a human being, not a human doing, and it’s enough for me to simply appreciate my life for the wholly un-whole mess it is right now. It really is a beautiful mess. Full of complete and incomplete moments. It’s the best it’s ever been, and all it’s ever been. But I’m constantly afraid that it’s on the verge of coming undone. Unraveling. Unwinding. 

 But that can’t be because for once I’m not, my life isn’t, wound too tightly. It’s loose, hanging in the balance, because there is finally a balance to hang from. There’s finally something to rely on. I’ve finally found something I’d be afraid to lose. Something worth losing. But that’s great, because at least that’s something. Something worth losing was the best thing I ever had.

 The something worth losing is the fireplace warmth on the cold fall nights with the people I love who all love each other. Playing silly games and eating decadent but simple things together. I can hear it. I can feel it. The warmth, the happiness, the laughter spilling over from one person to the next. It’s catching. This season of generosity and warmth-- I’m going to keep saying warmth because that’s what it feels like. It’s so cold out but the interactions between people, between these people, we people, are so warm and friendly and growing and catching and lively and heated and energetic. There is this nervous, fervent, bubbling energy. And I'm beginning to understand, in my twentieth year, that that's what lasting friendship consists of.