December 5th, I Think.

How did I cultivate a sense of wonder in my life in 2010.

I began to believe in magic, in the sheen of a secret side to every situation and every thing. Results - I paid attention to dandelions. I blew bubbles. I celebrated 10.10.10 at 10:10:10. I felt voices rather than heard them (Dave Matthews, David Gray, Marcus Mumford, Josh Ritter).

Wow...I didn't realize until now how much I really did try to cultivate this sense of wonder. Maybe not in those words, but that's what happened. I am a short-term type of person - what to do in the next few hours, what happened in the past day or two. Beyond that, memories and thoughts go to a place in my mind where they are laminated and, upon need of them or sudden remembrance, they are clear to me as the day it happened. But everything is not in my head at one time, or at least, not everything that's ever happened to me.

I know it's not uncommon but I liked realizing it. Self-knowledge was another thing I was working on this year, I think. And information, always more information - the inhaling of facts and ideas and skills and stories. There is always that.

It Doesn't Feel Like a Monday.

I stood out on a plateau last night with the snow shrieking around me, in "the palace of winds." I understood that phrase when I read it in The English Patient, but never as in that moment with the cold toothy wind sticking my back and blowing down into the valley.

I slid down the side of the hill and hunkered down in the brush, on my knees. I had wandered around searching for magical things all day, in the beginnings and the zenith of the snowstorm. I found it there, among the curves of the dormant vines, snowflakes slashing their way through the air above me. It wasn't magical so much as awesome, in the most majestic sense of that word.

I resolved not to waste the next snowstorm, after last winter's big one. So maybe I did, today, but tomorrow there is the promise of much frolicking and yesterday was majestic. Maybe now I shall go out to the Jewish cemetery and find the coupled silence of snow and the grave.

Reflections during Christmas break.

I like Christmas trees the best, and Christmas lights. And How the Grinch Stole Christmas...and Christmas cookies. This year, 2010, I think has been filled with more magic than any year of my life. I'm seeing it everywhere, helped along perhaps by all those icons and their depictions of small magical moments.

It's difficult to keep in mind the real reason of the season, as they say. My mind is more often on what to do next on day so-and-so of Christmas break, what present to put together next, all the cards I want to write to my peeps; or it's on the small happy moments that this break has been made up of. Compliments and little endearments that I didn't realize I wanted to hear so much until I heard them.

Starting to focus on living, really living: cleaning up my junk and washing dishes, making French toast and thinking on things in deeper levels. Not worrying so much about what I write, most of all what I write in my journal or on here, the places where I'm supposed to be letting loose, not holding on. So that's how it's going.

It came about after coming home Sunday, I think, and having a sort of nervous breakdown over insecurities and circumstances. I moped around for a few hours, then went to the movies along to see The Chronicles of Narnia. It wasn't fair to see it then, when I could barely focus on where to walk next, but maybe someday I'll have the chance to re-watch it.

It was nice though, being alone. I was inspired after The Fish sent me a poem-video called How To Be Alone. After she sent me that, I printed out the words and carried them around with me, thinking on them. It was so freeing, to walk and not worry about how to fill the silences and what to say next and if it was correct, if it was wise, if it fit the image I wanted that person to have of me.

Is that hypocritical? or theatrical? I can't decide.

I just was, Sunday afternoon. Theater 7 was nearly empty, and I sat in the middle with myself and an empty half-theater before me, crying at parts of the movie because of the colors or the clarity of the water, and not caring very much about anything except that moment.

Doesn't sound very Christian I suppose, but it was calming and I felt lighter walking out of AMC. I walked to Barnes&Noble, wandering the aisles a little bit before calling Papa to take me home. It's a good place to get lost, in the middle of a million captive worlds. I saw no one I knew. No one knew me. The only person I talked to was the cashier and the lady who wanted to take my 3D glasses at the end of the movie, but she doesn't count because I was spacing out as I usually do after the credits roll.

It always feels like a rebirth, walking out of a theater at the end of a movie. Darkness and projected images, followed by rapid blinking, disorientation, and the cleaning crew at the end of the tunnel. Haha.. weird. I like the feeling though. I don't go to the movies often but I like going alone best, I've decided. Watching a movie for the first time with people is awkward. I like the privateness of entering a story alone and letting it change me uninfluenced.

Well, that's how I am now. I've been thinking a lot about change, about growing old. The preciousness of time is a burden, and I hate thinking about all it implies. I may have found the college to attend; it's in Minneapolis. I have a great-aunt in Minneapolis. Her oldest son is a 40+ bachelor, a violinist and a music teacher. Their last name is Kot.

An old friend I ran into on Sunday told me about the college. It has what I like. It's not so, so far away. I like it.

The Moment I Felt Most Alive.

Getting into the shower, freezing water shooting out on me: I jerked and then accepted my fate. Getting out of the shower, the half-chilled air in the bathroom felt hot on my frosty skin. I felt the warmth of my flowing blood that moment.

That was probably the safest moment of feeling most alive this year, the one that comes to my memory first.

Prompt 2.

I suppose all I do is research of sorts, for my writing. It's like asking someone, what do you do each day that doesn't contribute to staying alive and how can you eliminate it. Perhaps that's where the Stoics found themselves; I am no Stoic. I love my meat and my music, my luxurious fabrics and hours spent daydreaming.

In all the actions of my day, I find myself thinking of how I would capture the moment in words. I hardly write anymore, but I think way too much for my good.

So, here's my answer: I would get around to the business of living and wrap this world of words and dreams securely around it. That's how I would eliminate all the things that don't have their end in words.