Thursday, February 25, 2010


Like much of the population of our tiny globe, I've been closely following the Olympics. The athletes' stories have been inspiring, sad, moving, amazing, get the drift. Above all, they have been real. They are real people overcoming real hardships, enjoying the real support of real communities to compete in an arena with other real people for real wins. And sometimes, unfortunately, experiencing real losses despite all the very real training and sacrifice.

I don't now about you, but watching that much reality is exhausting! Don't get me's the very best kind of mental exhaustion because you get so very involved. You stand so firmly behind...and root so hard for....and care about, your favorites, and you have no idea how it's all going to turn out! So-called "reality TV" has nothin' on the Olympics. Not even the endless mind-twist of Lost can drag me far enough into its convolutions to give me the same rush I get from seeing a favorite athlete win gold.

This exciting rush has been added to a brew of nervous tension brought on by events in my own life. Well, last night I took a break from all of it. No worries...the trusty DVR was set to pick up the slack as far as the Olympics are concerned.

I popped in Jane Campion's Bright Star. I just needed to be told a story that didn't demand as much involvement on my part. Well, wouldn't you know, I got involved in a completely different way! I suppose a great movie will do that to you.

When I reached this scene in the movie, I put the player on pause:

Without going too far into the story line, Fanny is sitting on her bed on a warm summer afternoon feeling happy and content and perhaps a bit more. But she's just sitting quietly with her thoughts and enjoying this curtain-billowing breeze. Well, that did it...sucked me right in...I've felt that contentment and I've felt that particular breeze too (in the midst of the "bleak mid-winter" I'm anxiously anticipating its return).

That one scene in the movie reminded me of what it is to be "in the moment". I'm sure you're familiar with the moment. It's the instant in which you've successfully set aside your reliving of the past to determine the couldas and shouldas. And you've managed to wrench your gaze away from the gaping chasm of concern that is the future. Then, having put down those heavy burdens, you realize that in this moment everything is perfect. I really like those moments, and I'm happy to say I've enjoyed a few.

Like last night when I paused the player and sketched out this scene. And the moment that immediately followed it when I plucked the book off the shelf that contains an excerpt from John Keats' Endymion, and copied some of it into my moleskine. Those were some particularly nice moments, and I was in them.

Thanks for stopping by!


dcpeg said...

Oh, Nan!! How beautifully put! And thanks for reminding me of special moments as you described. I'm so ready to have some.

This winter has been hard on me, especially in that I've lost my appreciation for snow. Hopefully I'll get it back when all the dirty mounds of plowed snow melt - off, hopefully before the cherry blossoms bloom! Speaking of them, the old trees around the Tidal Basin took a beating during our blizzards.

A week ago I reminisced about a glorious moment (one of many I enjoy) sitting on the balcony, admiring our flower boxes, feeling the cool breeze across my sun-warmed skin. Thanks to your post, I'll make a point of revisiting special moments like that more often. XO

raena said...

I enjoyed hearing about your moment and was reminded of many of my own. Thanks for a great post. And I love your sketch with the billowing curtains!

Nan said...


I'm glad I was able to take you both back to your own