Tag: in the quiet

A Good Sign

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Three weeks ago, I reactivated my Bumble dating app, and it was similar to flipping a switch on a revolving door of men. There’s so many men named Michael, I had to start categorizing them by the town they live in. There’s a few things I’ve noticed at this stage of my life in finding the right one.

  • There’s no rush. The tricky part is finding a human not in a rush.
  • I’m still willing to drive the distance, but under an hour is sweet.
  • Someone who loves their life, but would like for you to join in.
  • My prayer before each date is, “Keep my ears open and mouth shut.”
  • Laugh your asses off together, and in the same moment.

The hug is the litmus test, and it shouldn’t be quick. It’s when you’re willing to hold each other as long as possible, before it becomes awkward. Where you simply relax in each others arms, and breathe it in. That’s a hug.

Looking back at the men I’ve hugged there was one thing I always did near the end. For some reason, my hand would automatically pat him on the back. It was an odd feeling, and the men didn’t appreciate it, but eventually I’ll hug someone, and my hand won’t automatically pat him on the back.

That will be a good sign.

P.S. If you haven’t met Michelle GD, you need to. She’s a blogger here at WordPress and she hosts a monthly workshop entitled, ‘The Quiet Page.’

Missing the Wave

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Scrupulous. Intentional. Breathing in moments.

That’s how I envisioned last week would be. Daily life landed me far from the mark, and I missed some moments. One moment in particular hurt my heart a little bit, but sometimes that’s what it takes to snag my attention.

I was working in the yard moving plants as my daughter walked out of the house toward her Jeep. I walk up alongside her, give her a hug, and as she backs out, I stroll over to the pathway of stepping stones in the middle of the yard and wait for her to drive by. Except that day, I had a shovel in my hand and was moving one more plant.

This is something new we began doing this year, and it’s become ritual.

Normally, I stand on the path, wait for her to drive by and give her this wave filled with exuberance, like Miss America after drinking way too much coffee. She waves too, but that day when she drove by, I was in the side yard, so I missed the wave. It’s difficult to know how important something is until it’s missed.

A few days later she was leaving the house and we stepped through our leaving ritual. I suggested when she reached the end of the driveway to turn in the opposite direction and drive by the house one lot over that had been beautifully repainted. She sat there a moment and said, “But if I go that way, I’ll miss the wave.”

I smiled and on que began walking toward the middle of the yard to the path. This time, there was no missing the wave.

There once was a guy who named his dog, ‘Stay.’ When he called him to come the poor dog heard, “Come here, Stay.”

In The Quiet

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The stillness of the morning.

The cat is curled up on an ottoman nearby and the dogs are lounging in the hallway. The quiet is my sweet spot.

Photo by Lisa Fotios on Pexels.com

I was at the pizza place lastnight helping out during rush hour. Music was blaring through the speakers in the ceiling, and the guys in the kitchen where sharing loud banter. The phone would ring and I’d answer, trying to sound composed in all the noise.

The noise level was intense for about an hour and then it all died down. Sitting here this morning I realized I can get the job done within the uproar of the noise, but where I really hear what feeds my soul, is in the quiet.