Thinking about what to write for my first contribution to Minus the Box ironically made me realize that I have been living inside a box of my own making for the past few months (or years, if I have to be completely honest).
I don’t really know how I got here or why it has only recently occurred to me that I am here. Sure, there are the usual culprits I could blame – work, further studies, and the juggle-dance in which you try to keep several balls in the air all at once (I’m certain we’re all familiar with it). All of these things definitely have contributed towards a way of life that is much narrower than I would like it to be.
Somewhere between the routine I have established for myself and the to-do list which never seems to end, this box sprang up around me and I don’t really see much outside of it. The little day-to-day pleasures that eventually add up to a life well lived have been passing me by, completely unnoticed.
It came as a shock, for instance, when my yoga instructor had us all performing moon salutes the other day in honor of the super moon which could be seen on the 23rd of June. I realized then that it had been ages since I took time to do something as simple as looking at the moon. But more than that, also being in touch with the phases it went through and the time that those phases marked out in my own life. Seasons have been coming and going without me ever taking the time to notice that the rhythm has changed; that a new phase has been heralded.
I know that it is so very, very clichéd by now, but I do have to ask myself: in twenty years from now, will all these other unconscious routines that dominate my life now really matter; or will I just feel regret at not having stared at the moon more often?
So today is the first step in my attempt to break out of my own little box, in whichever small way I can: I am writing this on my laptop, in the mellow winter sunshine that is pooling on my patio. I’ve taken the time today to actually look at the sky, and it is a brilliant robin’s egg blue, with not a cloud in sight. I can hear pigeons cooing and children laughing in the distance, and somewhere up above me, a lone bird I cannot identify is circling and calling out to a mate who does not answer. These sounds are intermittently punctuated by the low hum of a car passing by, somewhere far in the distance, and horses whinnying into the soft breeze that is blowing. But mostly, it is just quiet, and warm, and there is a pervasive atmosphere of contentment.
I hope that, wherever you are, you can feel it, too.