Tuesday, October 5th, 2021: 11:57am: I’M back at my home office – in reality, an upstairs bedroom, two rooms away from our two cats and a floor above our two dogs. The sun is breaking through the predominant greyness of the morning and there’s work that needs preparing and then doing.
I’ve just updated my physical newspaper file – a copy of the Waterford News & Star and a copy of The Munster Express – with both of this week’s editions now alongside me on the desk.
I’ve followed up a flat white in Lisduggan following an early work appointment with a cup of tea at home (I am slowly coming around to coffee, aged 42) and the only sound worth noting is emanating from the clock to my right, ticking and tocking away.
Gratitude is the overwhelming sentiment I’ve felt since waking just before 7am. I am physically healthy, those I care for the most are similarly well disposed and I’m not overly troubled by anything.
That’s not to say that I don’t have the odd day in which I question the nature of my life and the consequences of decisions that I and I alone have taken. We all have our bins to leave out every week, so to speak. I just prefer it when no-one sees me leaving out any of mine.
While there’s much I readily share, there’s a lot that’s just for me. The world doesn’t need to know about all that other stuff. My stuff.
That was not always the case, I will readily acknowledge that, but here I am, definitely older, hopefully wiser and content to filter my life and how it relates/impacts on others on a need-to-know basis.
Too many feelings and insecurities have been converted into industries during this century. Go for a walk. Read a book. Turn the phone off. Invest in yourself and your friendships. I’ll tell you all that happily and not pilfer money from your pocket while doing so.
I turn to a book I regularly consult – ‘Spring: A Folio Anthology’ for a blend of counsel and entertainment – and randomly open it onto page 73, where the words of John Webster meet my gaze.
All the flowers of the spring
Meet to perfume our burying;
These have but their growing prime,
And man does flourish but his time.
Survey our progress from our birth,
We are set, we grow, we turn to earth.
Courts adieu, and all delights,
All bewitching appetites!
Sweetest breath and clearest eye,
Like perfumes, go out and die;
And consequently this is done,
As shadows wait upon the sun.
Vain the ambition of kings,
Who seek by trophies and dead things
To leave a living thing behind,
And weave but nets to catch the wind.
I have a beautiful daughter and a clutch of delightful nieces and nephews. I’ve had two parents, one still alive, thankfully, who have always wanted what was best for me, four wonderful grandparents and five loyal and incredibly decent siblings. I’ve grown up surrounded by good people.
The company I keep under the roof where I lay my head each night is full of gentleness, compassion, integrity and a sense of fun. Life’s not always a bed of roses, of course not, but all of the above are the flowers of my own Spring. And I’m grateful for knowing and loving all of them. Wherever you are, I hope you have a good day.
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