Sabbath

The days just seem to go by so fast. Last I knew it was Sunday. It's now Thursday. 

Thursdays have become my favorite day of the week because they are my day on the boat. What's funny is that the best day also contains one of the worst/hardest things, getting up early. I have to be out the door by 8.45 in order to grab breakfast before I leave. I am a night owl and these mornings come too early. For whatever reason, this morning seemed like a greater struggle than ever. Nevertheless, I eventually got up and lifelessly made my way to the cafeteria. Once I had food in me and was on my way to the tram, I seemed determined to make it on time and excited about the hour long journey. The struggle of rising already having perished.

Last Thursday I brought Anne Lamott's book "Small Victories" along to read. I read 70 pages. For those of you who know me, you know that I am not an avid leisure reader. More astonishing than the amount of pages I read in one day was how much I enjoyed doing so. 

What I usually hate about reading is how static and unproductive it feels. I become easily restless and distracted in my thoughts. The fact that I am on public transportation heading to a specific destination does two things while reading. 1) makes me productive and in motion 2) focuses my distractions to the brief moments when the tram stops are being called aloud. Number 2 feels like i've made a step in the right direction toward meditation, which before seemed incomprehensible for my seamless thoughts.

I was never able to read in cars as a kid, I would get nauseous. For whatever reason, that is no longer a factor. Timing.

I couldn't get my head out of the book as I walked into the shipyard. I only looked up to smile at the woman who opened and closed the things that let cars in. When I finished the chapter I was content and closed the book.

To my surprise, no one was on the boat. I looked around and thought maybe they were still sleeping. So I decided that I would sit on the boat Kerstin's boat is tied to and read. I was astonished that I was being given the space my heart needed, "Small Victories." 

I read a few chapters and went inside the boat again. No one. I debated whether I should clean up and vacuum and sweep, after all there is usually saw dust everywhere. I scratched my head looking around seeing that the boat was already tidied up. Back to my book I went. 

This time, my disruptions came from the sounds of the men working on the boat behind me. When I started paying attention to my other senses, I was astounded at how beautiful of a day it was. How this moment was.

My skin as overjoyed as my soul with the nourishment it was receiving from the long lost sun.

Everything became one. The drills, the metal clanging, the wind, the distant childhood chatter, I was reading it all in the same manner I took in each letter on the page.

Splashes disrupting the rhythmic waters, a crew team passing by.

I went and checked inside the boat one more time. I debated whether I should paint more of the front deck. Being too hard to determine whether or not the other parts had had a second coat, I opted out not wanting to waste paint. 

After two hours of being present to life, I headed back home.

Only breaking to eat my sandwich, I continued absorbing everything Lamott offered. (Well, I did also have to pause to show the BVG (public transportation) workers my monthly pass. You cannot distinguish these people from anyone else. They have no uniform. The only characteristic feature is their little machine.)

Stepping foot off the tram at my stop, I decided I wanted the banana I had packed. Opening it from the bottom up, because the top was too short, my day became that much better. The perfect ripeness. 

My soul washed over by Lamott's words, my skin basking in the sun, my ears ringing with all the shipyard chatter and now my tastebuds drooling over this PERFECT banana. 

I was really upset though, I went to pick up the last bite out of the peel and it flew out and onto the stone. Sadness. Although, it did make me stop to appreciate the concealer of such deliciousness. I became grateful for it's protection of my perfection.

I wasn't home for long. Another school field trip. This one was for my internship seminar. We went to a co-working space. A building where people can rent desks and work alongside other people who are likely working on something completely different from you. 

On the way there, nostalgia was awoken. The act of reading a story. I remembered that my favorite 6 year old wanted to read me a story over Skype this weekend but couldn't because of dinner time. I remembered the time her and her sister, my favorite 9 year old, asked me to tell them a story from my childhood and became stunted by the memory of my father telling me bedtime stories from his childhood. Such an intimate act of love occurring amongst the hustle and bustle of a city. A world within a world. 

In looking for the co-working space after getting off of the tram, I came across this Ford. I know, what? It looks like something out of Mario Kart, the kind that would slip over my perfect banana peel. It makes me laugh because it is called a KA. Naturally, I read this as the Massachusetts pronunciation of car. "Hey, look at my new kaaa!"

Awaiting our teacher at the co-working space, Agora, Gina was desperately gawking at something behind me, I turned to see. I was immediately drawn to this precious human being. Harold the purple crayon esk, yet completely their own character. Mittens attached by a thread. Parents almost out of sight, leaving their kid behind. They kept looking at us. So hesitant to continue on, stopped, just taking it in. 

This child summed up everything my day had been. Taking in the moment. Tenetively strolling on.

Thursday's have become my sabbath. They are teaching me that we are nothing if not attempting to embrace everything. 

I read 200 pages today, 200 more if you count everything outside the ink.

Abigail