There were some thoughtful and thought provoking comments on yesterday's post. Which makes today's easy. In Stuntmother's words "what is your rock?" What anchors you and keeps you safe at the edge of the precipice? What gives your life meaning, stability and the feeling of being "home"?
Looking back thirty plus years, I realise my Dad was right - youth is wasted on the young. I'd like to be young again, and carefree, and have all those choices. But would I also have to be again so gauche? To live again a muffled, underwater sort of life, not fully awake or aware? If so, I'll keep the white hair, the creaky knees and the crows' feet. I'm finally at a stage in life where I'm comfortable in my skin, even if it has lost some of it's elasticity; a stage where I like my own company, even when I "babble", or go off at illogical tangents [my Dad was right there too - when you talk to yourself you're always assured of an attentive audience ]; a stage where I still love music, but silence is often my favourite song............
So, how about it?" What is your rock?"
4 comments:
When I was a child until the age of 17 the Middle East was my rock. That was where I was brought up (until boarding school) and where my parents lived. Scotland was where I went to school and was therefore tainted.
Now that I'm an adult and still not living in Scotland, I no longer call Qatar my home. My parents live in Edinburgh now which is where all my friends are and where MrV and I met and courted. But Scotland and I still share a love-hate relationship. I would love to live there and yet hate it when I am there.
So where is my rock? He is at work for my rock is a person and not a place.
The place I grew up in holds few attractions for me now and I rarely visit. I never felt true belonging there anyway. And my Dad left when I was 17 so the family unit scattered.
I moved to Melbourne a few years later and found an area of it where I felt so comfortable it was like a homecoming. So I dug in my roots. And I'm happy.
I've been thinking about this for a bit and I think my best answer is my partner and son.
I've moved around a fair bit so there are very few places that didn't feel like 'home' at the time.
Thanks for visiting my blog too :)
Molly, I've been thinking about this since yesterday, too. Thanks for the inspiration.
I think... that I have a pocketfull of stones. Chips of rock rounded with wear. Portable rocks. I can lay them out on a table and compare them. I can place them in sequence, hop in my imagination from one to another. It's not a bad analogy. Maybe this is why I do actually collect them.
I have a fist-sized lump of jasper that my brother found in a trout stream in Waitsfield. I have jagged chunks of Amazonite crystals from his mining claim in Colorado. I have a lichen-encrusted bit I picked up near the summit of Mt. Mansfield in Vermont. I have a striped, perfectly spherical boulder from the Adirondack wilderness. I have a palm-sized, translucent stone that looks like a sucked lolipop. It is a quartz crystal worn to roundness.
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