I’m outside, tucked under a canopy of trees, sitting along the river by the bridge.
It’s quintessential Vermont, really.
There’s tons of kids lapping this section water in tubes like a lazy river—floating down in the current, then walking back up the sandbar. Well, it’s really more of a rockbar... I’m not sure if that’s even a thing, but the point is: the water’s full of enough stones that there’s an island in the middle of the river that you can walk on.
Anyway.
There are no kids coming downstream at the moment and I’m watching some folks on stand-up-paddleboards eyeing the lazy river section. I feel relaxed; but like, actually relaxed. For real. I know I’ve been stressed lately but, damn; I guess I hadn’t quite realized how much.
Today, I’m reading a bit of Austin Kleon’s Don’t Call It Art. From where I’m perched along the riverbank, I have a clear view of upstream as well as down. There’s plenty of folks congregated on the rocky shoreline of the riverbend up there. And it makes sense—this is a sunny day after a string of cloudy wet ones.
Me?
I’m sitting outside of a coffee shop with a book. I love this place. The way the patio spills into the river by the classic, covered wooden bridge is picturesque. I’m remembering all the times we drove past here when I was a kid and I’m smirking at how oblivious I was. I didn’t appreciate it in the way I do now. Then, all I’d wanted to do was go to the cliff-jumping spot much further up. My cousins and I would pester our grandfather to take us there until my mom, aunt, and grandmother would get so sick of it that they’d end up helping our cause and urge him to “just go already!”
Shaking my head, I return my attention to my book. I’m reading Austin’s thoughts on channeling your emotions for artistic fuel—rather than suppressing them—where he encourages “feeling them, examining them, and using them.” I took it a step further and penned in my thoughts.
“Don’t fight your feelings. [Find them] Feel them. Examine them. Use them. [We experience emotions but we metabolize feelings through the stories we tell].”
Setting down my pen, I let out a slow exhale and glance back up at the river. I linger there for a moment before turning and looking down it. And I let myself just sit there, both observing and participating in this moment right now, between the two.
Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
300/365
When you look back, do you also remember to look ahead? Do you remember to return to the present?
onward.
For more on this daily column and The MAP Year Project, read the backstory.
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