~ Graycie Harmon
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W
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It
happens everywhere: as I “train it” to and from work; walking to the art
gallery; standing in line for lunch; digging for buried treasure in a
consignment shop with friends.
If
I’m open, relaxed, and not thinking too hard about my own issues, I “see” the
stories unfolding all around me. And
lately, all of them remind me of Henry David Thoreau’s observation: “The mass
of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”
Watching
the play of weariness cross countless faces, and sensing the trapped-animal
pacing just below the surface, I feel like I’m watching myself in a mirror. But
my love of words and my love of nature are the bridges I use to escape Crazy
Desperate Town when its walls begin to close in.
Yesterday
I spent several hours in the morning mowing the side yard, weeding the garden,
trimming dead branches from the fruit trees, and raking grass. And in the
afternoon, I read a few blogs, wrote my blog post, and then headed into town
for a swing dress fitting, and some retail garden therapy.
But
what if you don’t have the gift of writing? Or painting? Or singing or playing
an instrument? What if you don't have room for a garden? How in the world do
people survive life without art or nature?
Writing
out my thoughts, feelings, and opinions, or researching an idea takes the sting
of the sometimes blah and desperate parts of life. And the ability to putter in
my garden, sit in the shade of the orchard, listening to the sounds of nature,
calms the restlessness that comes from feeling the press of reality.
I
shudder to think of what life would be like if I didn’t have these outlets.
Oremus pro invicem,
~
Mikaela
Are you living a life of
quiet desperation? Have you tried taking
up a new artistic hobby?
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