A kinder atmosphere in my world with the teachers out for summer. It’s just nice to know good people are out there. And I know such good teacher colleagues and friends.
I would have returned the email, even between terms. Yes, I judge her for not replying. Yes, I know she wasn’t being paid to check emails between terms.
But I would have. And I always did.
Because of being like that, so hyper-vigilant, I will never relax. I have never relaxed. Always on. Retirement would kill me.
Some people are multi-talented in music and art and writing. It’s amazing. It’s great to see.
I wish I’d thanked my parents for moving us from a middle-class existence in a high-crime area to a poor existence in a much safer one. I never thanked them, but rather blamed them for making us poor by moving. I am ashamed I didn’t appreciate how much better a safe life would be for all of us, and especially for someone as sensitive as I am. I am decades too late for they have died, but I wish I could tell them: “Thank you for this sacrifice.”
One of the joys of being a highly sensitive person is that I can find great joy in simple beauties, actions, sounds, smells, sights. To me, nothing is simple, and I am grateful for all beauty of person or nature.
Because I am off-the-chart highly sensitive, I also find life to be greatly complicated and difficult at times, exhausting often.
A gift and a curse, but I don’t know how to be otherwise.
Someone laughed at me chuckling over ducks recently, but that’s all right. It was delightful to hear them quacking and see them flying overhead on an otherwise cool and quiet spring afternoon.
That’s me, sometimes flying, often quacking. Never graceful, but often feeling grace.
This aging is a hoot. I remember things so clearly that turn out to be decades ago.
Kindness matters. I would advise against ambition over compassion. In the long run, if we are human, we need each other more than another thing. Yes, that’s a privileged point of view, for many struggle to survive, and I’ve been there. When I was struggling so hard just to keep a roof over my head, I was all ambition.
But after survival, and during survival, I do believe compassion is paramount.
What’s with so few people reading poetry? Language is so magical and poetry the most possessed!
I like the free photo/ image I found from pexels.com more than anything I have created. Talk about evocative!
In my dreams, I can paint. And sing. And dance. Also in my dreams, I awaken and realize I cannot do any of those.
Just some random (or not) thoughts on a lovely quiet and cool late spring evening before the riot of summer heat sets in.