#julie pointer

Every morning for the past few days I’ve been reading a few pages of Kinfolk Magazine Volume Three, and there are so many beautiful thoughts/examples from people that have grasped hold of the spark of life. The first story resonated so deeply with my life right now. I want to save these thoughts here.

A Quiet Life

What I want is a quiet life. I mean a life that listens: to other people, to my place, to silence. I want to notice even the smallest things, to stay immediate to my surroundings. But daily distraction can be so fragmenting, so addictive, and the kind of attentive patience I seek requires clarity of mind. To find this clearheadedness, I must make a commitment to do so - I have to say no to the constant, frenzied consumption of “needs” ( more often wants and excesses), and I have to make room for the quiet, contented yes I actually desire.

I feel most acutely present when I am away from the noise, when my circumstances pare down all unnecessary clutter. I have experienced this fully in short parentheses in my past - living in a convent in a hilltop village, working on a remote island with scarcely 200 inhabitants, visiting my grandparents in their summer cottage on the river. These represent the simplest times, when I am completely content with nothing but words, pen and paper, the outdoors, my feet, my eyes. I return from these respites feeling soft malleable, ready to make something good of myself.

But apart from the luxury of true time away, daily life clamors. I am folded into busyness, worrying about friends, washing dishes, money, work, wondering what I will make of my life. It’s hard to get ahold of myself in this cycle, unless I actively venture to reassess, remove. Even the plainest gesture can renew me - jotting a few words down (somewhere, anywhere), opening a book, taking a walk, doing jumping jacks, baking, drawing some lines, watching the trees move outside my window. In dire times I take a drive, always somewhere with unfenced expanses and wildness in which I lie. I eat an apple; I hear the birds. I move beyond the minute scope of myself, and I am refreshed by the marvel of the osprey’s nest, the river unceasing, the cows field.

When I am alert enough, these moments of relative aloneness overwhelm me with the freedom of choice. It is a generous gift - to choose the way I want to live, in spite of circumstance. I believe that I am daily shaping myself through my decisions, and so I make them earnestly, carefully. But I too easily fall into patterns I believe to be obligatory - habits of convenience I depend upon. I am carried away by the impulse to keep up, though this sentiment inspire only a perpetual state of wanting. I’d rather punctuate my days with actions turning me towards gratefulness, revitalizing my eyes to see the calm goodness already around me. If I excuse my mind from easy diversion and turn my attention to noticing whats before me - whether word, wind, or moth-wing-I find a simple quiet within me. 

I love solitude, but I do not remain there forever. My solitary times fortify me to listen more clearly and to love better when I am in the presence of others. We are meant to commune together, which means empathize, to relate to, to be close with. When I take the time to perceive the world as it is - and myself as I am - I have more empathy and gratitude for those I encounter daily, be they friends or strangers. I spend time alone to cultivate my own joy and well-being, for the sake of becoming something worthy of sharing with others.