Sitting still

But we rarely do.

Sit still.

If we do, it’s because we’re forced to — e.g. in the workplace or WFH.

In my early years, I rarely sat on a chair and instead spent most of my waking hours outside the house. I think my parents liked it that way; I wasn’t under their feet. That’s why I found it an interminable strain to sit on a chair for any length of time.

Age has mellowed that incessant need for movement but not the need to go outside, even on the most gnarly of days. But of late, I’ve started to explore sitting quietly on the edge of the bed before I go to sleep or one of the many benches around the village and listening to everything, particularly the inner monologue which has a tendency to run away with itself like a group of wild horses. There’s no purpose, no creed and I’m not calling it anything other than sitting.

Do I feel better for it? It’s hard to say. If anything it’s made me realise, again, how unique but at the same time unspectacular is our earthly existence. I know, and this is a daily reminder to my more self-important but faux self, that one day I won’t be able to experience any of this. Indeed, only this morning, as I was walking around the kitchen, I remembered a friend of mine on Facebook, who I’d connected through our writing on Livejournal, who died of cancer. He was a kind man and always wrote such touching, thoughtful material.

Am I advocating that you similarly learn or practice how to sit? No. As is my way, I’m simply sharing a few words on something that’s happening in my oh-so-ordinary life. (Isn’t that what blogging is supposed to be about or at least a version thereof?)

Today I’m going to take it nice and easy. I’ve got a bit of legal work to do for a friend; I’ll read the paper; perhaps go to Dartington for a walk around the beautiful grounds; and as for the rest of it, well, it will flow the way it always flows.

Sitting? Yes. I’ll remember to do some of that — perhaps from one of the splendid wooden benches in the Dartington Estate — but more than anything else, I’ll take a moment to reflect on the enormity of life — all of it, even the unpleasant bits.

Blessings,

Julian

Photo by Allec Gomes on Unsplash