For one reason or other I'd kind of let this slip for a while, but sharing it has reminded me why I started out in the first place, and has got me thinking again. Odd how small conversations can lead into a chain of thoughts.
How many millions like me are there out there? How many blogs and the words that they contain? I am fascinated by what people choose to share anonymously, publiclay shout about or quietly record whether read or not. One thing I do know is that writing these things, any things, helps me focus on the 'now'. I have, for a long time, been looking over my shoulder or wondering what's next. This at least means I turn to the present.
I am learning to enjoy and appreciate what I have, and reflect a little to recognise what's going on. Not always understanding why, but acknowledging nonetheless. It is a small and active thing. I am learning not too worry too much about tomorrow, but instead just slow down a little with fewer expectations and less concern about the views or actions of others. There is great joy in it.
Last night I dreamt about my father and my grandfather. Somewhere in the chaotic thoughts of a restless night my father was talking, walking, smiling, being a Dad. It has made me think of him as him, and not as he is now. I am glad that somewhere in the vestiges of my mind that these images and the sound of his voice are still with me. He is present still. For a moment or two, I do not need to grieve him and I had his company again.
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