When visiting my parents’ home, one of my favorite things to do starts with moving the reclining lounge chair to the most optimal position in the backyard for facing the sun. I sit for hours at a time, soaking as much direct sunlight on my skin as possible. Almost instantly, it multiplies my gratitude for being alive. A fresh layer of hopefulness coats my brain. A solar powered contentedness. My iPhone could never charge as fast as this. Sometimes if it gets too hot on my skin, I wrap myself in a blanket and enjoy the sun’s warmth through its soft curtain. Nothing beats being outside, free from the view and sound of traffic, listening to the birds and wind with the wispy scents of grass and crisp air. Opening my eyes to see the blue sky.
Today on my charging station, I saw three hawks flying overhead. Their wingspans were so wide, they reminded me of outstretched accordions. I half hoped to see one of our regular passerby chubby squirrels or cats come by but no luck. I pictured the cat walking along the fence, remembering its black fur and white spotted face. We both like laying in sunspots. Do cats wonder about how to live their lives in service to others? Should they feel guilty about laying in the sun, without a care or plan in the world? Are humans held accountable for living differently than cats? Or can I just live my life basking in sun spots and easy gratitude, too?*
My dream is to someday have my own yard that I can easily access every day at any hour. Or even live walking distance to a nice park, one that’s grassy and full of sunlight and separated far from traffic. Someplace peaceful where birds and squirrels like to be, too. But for now, I’ll take what I can get. What I get is access to moments of beauty, and I’m happy. I don’t mind driving the twenty minutes to Naples Plaza or Colorado Lagoon. This is my daily commute and I do it gladly without hesitation. Or like now, visiting my parents for an extended time, where I’m able to lounge in the large grassy backyard at the most optimal sun hours with very little prep work or planning needed to get there.
The days are hard but in some ways they are easy too. I can already feel myself archiving these days, these seemingly unprogressive, unremarkable moments, in the hallway of fond memories, timelessly precious. Already gone.
*This morning I read on the NYT about the crisis in Afghanistan. How some people have resorted to selling their kidneys to alleviate their debts. How they, because of their frigid living situations, are unable to recover fully, rendering them unable to work as before. This puts them back in debt again, a malicious cycle. The government turns a blind eye to the illegal sales, letting profit be profit. “In a country that sells their own sons and daughters, what are kidneys in comparison?” someone is quoted as saying. With so little money in the country, there is little hope and much poverty, violence, death. One of the leaders says “everything has value in Afghanistan, except human life.” I don’t know what to do with this news. My bed suddenly becomes extremely precious, my prior worries fickle and trite. How are we born into the lives that we are? I am so lucky to be where I am, yet I wonder what we as privileged people could possibly do about those in the world who are in dire situations. I don’t know. I wonder what the other people — Americans, Christians — who have read this article are thinking. I wish for somebody to process this heaviness with. Maybe I’ll bring it up on my call with Jas today. The next suggested article is about moms struggling to parent in this pandemic. I turn off my screen and go downstairs for breakfast.
