nixtress's Diaryland Diary

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Observations.

Something that popped into my head today:
What is the definition of "truly living"? Is it experiencing the wonders of the world, beholden to no one but yourself? Is it tasting the fruits offered, good and bad, with no intent of staying to nurture the next crop? Is it in exploration of one's own wants and needs or is it something different?
Is "truly living" standing in one place, leaning into the wind and storms, finding a way to walk under the burden of other's obligations and expectations? Is it in the giving more than the taking, making the most of the place you're planted or finding a new garden to grow in? Is "truly living" carving a niche for yourself or is it cavorting through someone else's?
Is there time in a life to do both? To walk in another's footprints and stand still too?
I know we're given one life and one chance. People who believe in reincarnation have hope for a re-do but I can't believe that. I have to live my life under the assumption that it's the only one I'm going to have.
Making the best of it...what, exactly, is that? How do you define what the best of it is?
I know it's a personal thing, I know that we each have to formulate our own definitions. I'm still working on mine. Maybe the whole point is an evolving definition. Maybe that IS the definition.
***
I scribbled that all down in a teeny little notebook as I was sitting in the "pick up" line at the boys' school this afternoon. I was listening to the radio and a song from Janis Ian came on, a song called When Angels Cry. What I know of Janis Ian comes from an old Janis Ian vinyl my mother owned when I was a kid and I played it until it wouldn't play anymore. I didn't care for the popular songs on the record, I preferred the not-so-well-known ones.
This particular song isn't one of those but still...it's a beautiful song.
Poignant. Hustled tears to my eyes in a big way. I'm sure I was a sight, sitting in that long line of mini-vans, bright-eyed with welling tears that I JUST managed to keep from rolling, chicken scratching my thoughts into a pocket notebook that I keep in the depths of my purse.
***
It snowed here, little fluffs of cold and ice that drifted down like a torn up pillow, covering bits and pieces of the ground until it resembled a moth-eaten blanket with holes of grass popping through here and there.
It's cold but nothing Ohio isn't used to. Poor Oregon is getting hit with weather they don't know how to deal with.
All in all, a good night to curl up and watch the snow fall through the black of my window.
Happy Tuesday.
N.

10:24 p.m. - 2007-01-16

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