The gold ring I wear on my right hand and the crown of thorns on my left
My chaco tan-lines
Hazelnut in my coffee
My cream colored dresser
The blue puffy chairs and indoor/outdoor carpet of the Mission - If I close my eyes I see it clear as day
The smell of "Linger" in my Scentsy warmer
Aspartame in my coffee
Purple polish on my toes
The ticking of the clock in my living area
My flowered couch - I think I need to slipcover it
Clothes washed with scented laundry detergent
There's something so comforting about familiarity . . . and so disconcerting about things you're unfamiliar with.
The other night I had to go home in the pitch darkness and I was not about to walk around camp in the dark, so I took a golf cart. A golf cart without lights.
The night I'm speaking of didn't have a moon worth mentioning, so I drove the whole way home with hardly any light. I was struck by the fact that I naturally turned where I should to stay on the road the whole way home.
It was familiar.
I recently made the transition from one office to another on camp. In the "Summer Camp Office" where I was all summer, I wore shorts and a t-shirt all day. There was no point in wearing anything else because you never knew when you might be required to jump into a game or climb up a ladder or run somewhere to solve a problem.
I didn't mind because I knew it was temporary.
To make myself feel pretty, though (because who are we kidding? I can't feel pretty in shorts and a t-shirt), I made it a point to wear jewelry every day. But the only necklace I wore was a small chain with a tiny map of my hometown hanging from it because anything larger than that would have been foolishness indeed.
When I moved into the "Retreat Office," I started wearing familiar cute clothes and decided to dig into the rest of my jewelry again after my long break.
The first day I put on anything other than my map necklace, I felt like it was literally weighing me down.
We are not talking about a big chunky necklace here. (We're talking about the necklace with the purple shirt in this post, which, by the way, makes me incredibly excited about fall being here and having the chance to wear all my office-y clothes again.)
The necklace I put on may not have been heavy, but halfway through the day I had to take it off because it was bothering me so much.
It was unfamiliar.
Eventually, my feet will be familiar in their untanned state, I'll be able to wear other necklaces, and I'll be comforted by the ticking of the clock.
For now, I'm in a state of transition in lots of areas and I'm okay with that.
Don't mind me. I'm really just playing around with the bare bones of a poem here.
2 years ago