I can recall days in my twenties when I lived with a dear friend. Though we lived by the sea, it was a walk to get there. Yet, we gave up a lot to be there. We lived in a small converted one room garage that was often visited by nightly cricket song. And not in an endearing way, but in that the crickets, seeing it was a garage, felt obliged to move right in and sing us to sleep.
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Another quiet day. I seem to have many such quiet days strung together. For me, an introvert, it is simply how I choose to live. I realize, for some, it would be hard to go days of self reflection. Though other, I believe, would love a break into such a stream of days.
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We enjoyed the moments though. We had hot tea and donuts on upturned cardboard boxes for tables, and rations of hand rolled drum cigarettes. There were evenings of reading or solitaire (by hand not computer). Was I any less or more happy then, than now? I don't know I don't think so. I felt a need to be where I was and to have the time to do what I wanted with my days.
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Even when I worked I always made sure that my schedule was arranged for my free time. Certainly climbing ladders and careers were attained and achieved by friends and others. For me, however, the moments was always the thing. Perhaps, in many ways, this was the lazy person's way. It may indeed be, I certainly would not run from the moniker 'lazy'. It is best to know one's limits I suppose.
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Sometimes, thought, there might be that odd introvert or quiet seeker who might need the little reminder to remember to live in the moment in a quiet way now and again. You can be as happy as the queen of England at High tea in a Palace with percolator coffee and a donut on an upturned box, I know, I have done.