I'm the person with at least five books on the nightstand and one on audio in the queue. What I pick up depends entirely on my mood (and what I'm needing) — and it only takes reading a few sentences back to catch the thread, or rewinding a minute to find where the author was headed.
Audio — Waiting for John Berendt, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil
Book 1 — Terry Tempest Williams, The Glorians
Books 2 & 3 — Martha Wells, Network Effect & System Collapse
Book 4 — Mary Oliver, Devotions
Our new home has lovely tall windows. And they need drapes.
I have a design and textiles background so, of course, they can't be just any drapes.
My aesthetics and budget are constantly at odds.
The windows are still bare.
I'm always working on my own shit, and relationships/situations provide the fodder. The other day I was thinking about a relationship that's been getting a lot better, and this dropped in: why didn't I just give them what they needed from the beginning?
The honest answer — I hadn't yet given it to myself.
Now I'm wondering... what if giving through my resistance is itself a path to giving something to myself? Resistance has been a trail marker for me — this way — but I hadn't considered resistance to be the path itself.
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