“Life begins at the end of
your Comfort Zone” - Anon
Someone I work with recently said to me “I don’t know how
you can do nothing all day, I would be sitting out on my patio reading.” Now to
me, sitting outside on the patio reading IS doing something, and she made it
sound like all I do all day is sit in a chair staring at a wall.
I live my life by the principle of Dolce far niente – the
Italian phrase for the sweet joy of doing nothing. Although I do not actually
‘do’ nothing; I do a lot of things everyday – I journal, I meditate, I read three
daily devotional books every day, plus I am always on a quest to find my
spirituality, adjust my attitude, generally be a better person, try to figure
out what the heck is wrong with me, and keep on top of the laundry!!! Between
trying to get my ADD under control, and working on balancing my Ch’I, I feel
like I have a full-time job. I need to be on a schedule, for the sake of both
my ADD and my dosha.
But anyway – here is a blog I started a while ago, and as
usual, I never know how to end the damned thing.
2015.02.13_Friday – not that it makes any difference.
I have a very good life. I eat good food, drink adequate
wine, have excellent herbal relation aids, and a ton of Fiber One 90 calorie
bars in assorted flavors; I live in a perfect for me, quirky little house in a
quaint and extremely desirable neighborhood, I have nice enough for now
furniture, and I sleep on a comfortable bed in a separate room with a door.
Which could sound like a strange achievement, but from the time I walked out of
my condo back in 2008, until I moved into this house in 2011, I was either
sleeping on somebody’s couch or living in one room. So, having a separate
bedroom and a bathroom right off the bedroom with an actual bathtub in it is a
really big deal for me. I have all the entertainment I could ever want either
in my living room or four blocks away. I lead exactly the life I have always
wanted, in fact, I have gotten everything I ever wanted – in moderation:
~ I wanted to live in ‘the islands’ – well this area of
south Florida is the American Caribbean, and I did live on Pine Island, Isles of Capri and
Marco Island, so I guess that counts.
~ I wanted to live on a sailboat in ‘the islands’, and I did
live on a beautiful, 42’ long x 24’ wide, 4 berth catamaran – that was up on
blocks in Bob and Annie’s Boatyard in beautiful St James City on Pine Island.
~ I wanted to live in
a cute little cottage on the beach – I lived in a guest house a block and a
half from the beach – it wasn’t all that cute, seriously lacking in ambiance, and
it had a lot of problems that the owner chose to ignore. That was a one
bedroom, but I was only there for 6 months, so does that count? My first home
back in SW Florida, the first place I officially lived in when I got back
from ‘The Trip That Shall Not Be Named’. I thought I had finally “arrived”,
living in Old Naples, with the rich and famous. The lady across the alley was a
well-known Naples ‘personality’, and here I was, sleeping on a single air
mattress that Christie lent me, everything else belonged to the landlord. I had
absolutely nothing, and Christie went to Wal-Mart and bought some melamine
plates, Lucite bowls, a box of plastic cutlery, a stack of Solo
cups, and a couple of dish cloths. As well as the air mattress, she lent me a
lamp, and a television that barely worked. I had a ‘clapped-out’ ancient laptop
that the screen went black on continually, I believe it originally belonged to
Diana, but Dan gave it to me so that I could look for a job. Ahhhh, but at
least I had a job though didn’t I? Working for the fire breathing hag from hell
– the longest 9 days of my life!!
Since then I am now in my second cute little cottage, even though
they are both 8 blocks from the beach instead of a block and a half, walking
distance still counts I suppose. ‘Scary house’ was cute in its own way, but
that was all my doing; I’m the one who scrubbed the brown ooze from the
previous tenants cooking crack off of every surface, painted it, and planted
the garden. That place was dreadful when I first moved in, the roof had been
leaking since Hurricane Wilma which was 4 years before! There was a tarp over the roof, and it smelled of mildew. I moved in at the beginning of July,
which is the rainy season – Hurricane season to be specific. And needless to
say, every time it rained it poured – from the ceiling. There I am calling the
slumlord owner at 2:00 am trying not to scream into his voicemail. Obviously he
turned his phone off at night. George next door told me that slumlord knew that
the water poured in every time it rained, and he still rented it – I’m pretty
sure that’s illegal, or it damned well should be! The previous tenant, crack
dealer’s girlfriend, reported slumlord to the city for code violations over it.
This house, in this life, has been my best re-incarnation yet.
I feel the most comfortable I have been since I lived in the ‘bedsit’ in
Edgebaston – now that place was cute!! All of my England residences were cute –
the old ones at least. But that is a subject for a future blog.
So what is this blog about exactly? Damned if I know, I lost
my train of thought about 3 paragraphs back. I guess the point would be, that no
matter how derelict it may be, like scary house, my home is my comfort zone,
and I almost never leave my comfort zone. I am practically a recluse. I used to
have almost all of my provisions delivered; meals, paper products, fresh
produce. My excuse at the time was that I was too busy with school, but the fact
is that it’s really, really convenient. Without having a car, going grocery
shopping turns into a day trip, and I can’t think of any time of the year here
in paradise when it is actually enjoyable to try to lug a ton of groceries 5 blocks from the bus stop in a tote bag on wheels.
I just read this morning that Emily Dickinson never left her
home past the age of 34. In 1854 she wrote, “I don’t go from home unless emergency
leads me by the hand, and then I do it obstinately and draw back if I can.” I echo
that sentiment. I guess I have been training for this position most of my life,
starting when I was 16 and living in Germany. My Dad conveniently forgot to get
me enrolled in the military dependents high school, so I sat on my butt all day
long, smoking cigarettes, knitting, and reading whatever I could find in
English - for two years. After a brief stint in the British workforce,
my first husband insisted that no wife of his was going to work, so I
officially became a house slave. I was a
stay at home mom for a decade, and during my second marriage I worked out of my home for
another decade. So by this time I guess you could say that I am very
comfortable in my own environment. I like living alone, everything that I see
is mine. There is nobody to ‘take into consideration’ or pick up after. There
isn’t even anything here that would remind me of someone else, it’s all new,
all the old stuff and the memories are gone. But I am never lonely, I never get
bored, and I spend very little time staring at a wall. I believe the only
reason I still have my job is because God wants me to have a reason to go out
of the house regularly.
I suppose if there was a moral to this story it would be that if life really
does begin at the end of your comfort zone, then I guess I really don’t have a
life – but, I would still rather do nothing and be happy than do something I don’t
love, and I really do enjoy my non-life.
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