Daydreaming

I caught the train to work today.  I haven't caught the train in a long while.  Of course when I was a regular user of public transport there were no quiet carriages.  I would try and read and find myself reading the same page over and over as I tried really hard not to listen to other conversations, or the music from the guy sitting across from me.  Today, however I indulged in sitting in a quiet carriage.

Ah, the serenity.  Although the first thing I noticed was that perhaps it was a little too quiet.  The silence was close to the line of peaceful and relaxing vs eerily quiet.  I look my seat and pulled out my book and began reading.  About a page in I put the book down.  It was too quiet to read, no one was moving and the gentle rock-rock of the carriage was almost hypnotising.  I looked out the window and found my mind easily slipping into that wonderful world of daydreaming.  My alter ego appeared and began living out all my dreams, big and small.  

Daydreaming is my favourite pastime.  I savour it whenever I have the chance.  I have even been known to potter about the house cleaning, only so I can escape to my alter ego and live in my fantasy world.  I find daydreaming cures all ills.  It calms me down when I feel upset and lifts me up when I am feeling flat, it also helps me to be clear on what I want and what I don't want.  And in those rare occasions when I am stuck watching something bad or listening to irrelevant chatter, it offers a reprieve and instantly makes the time pass better.

Of course once I escaped, the time to work passed in what felt like an instant.  The train had arrived at my station and I was off walking leisurely to work shaking off the clouds of my other world.  As I sat at my desk I felt relaxed, calm and ready to work.  Perhaps this is something I should look into.  A lot can be said for day dreaming and relaxing on the way to work, as opposed to dealing with the stress of peak hour traffic.  But then the convenience of private transport is maybe a slightly bigger indulgence that for now I think I will hold onto.  There is a lot to be said for getting home in the quickest amount of time possible.

Change

Someone said to me today that a change is as good as a holiday.  I disagree.  At least with a holiday I can go somewhere new, somewhere I have never been before.  I can go out and discover new things or I can choose to sit back, relax and listen to the ocean while sipping on a cocktail.  A holiday allows me to switch off, to recharge my body and mind and with each passing day the holiday bliss chips away at the old and stagnant and brings the new to the surface.  The creativity creeps back into my mind and ideas seem to flow.  A holiday gives me a new perspective on things, problems vanish and solutions appears and I have the chance to reconnect with Hubby and spend some real time together.

Right now I have none of that.  My hairdresser visited me yesterday.  A week ago I sent her a message, telling her it was time.  I am blonde and with a few exceptions over the years always have been, but every now and then I feel the need to change, to go dark.  I am back to my old job at work after spending 14 months acting in a higher role.  As such I am over qualified and getting bored fast.  Work is stagnant.  At home I feel as if I am going through the motions, the weekdays blend together and aside from Italian classes, Monday to Friday almost feels like groundhog day.  I needed to do something to shake things up.  I thought the best way to do that was to dye my hair a nice chocolate brown.

I sat in front of the mirror and as she began to dry my hair I had a moment.  A slight panic and feeling of anxiety as I realised I was stuck with the dark and in the moment I wanted the blonde back.  I turned my chair around.  I told the hairdresser I didn't want to look in the mirror I wanted it to be a surprise.  But in reality I just needed to take a few deep breathes and think about something else.  Once my hair was dry and I turned around and looked my first reaction was "It isn't dark enough".  My hairdresser explained we could go darker next time but she didn't want to go too dark now so as not to damage the hair.  I am not sure what reaction I was expecting, but I really didn't feel anything about this outward change.  

After she left I kept looking in the mirror, waiting for that moment of "I love this" but it never came.  I realised this morning it isn't about the hair, I do like it, it looks good, it is exactly what I wanted.  But while I may look different, nothing has changed.  Everything is the same.  It seems silly to think changing my hair colour would shake things up, but I suppose in that moment when I made the decision to change, I thought it would.  And then, this evening, my moment came.  I realised why I wanted to go dark.  It wasn't about shaking things up, it was really about hiding and hibernating.  I have begun working on a handful of goals this year and I am just starting to see progress being made.  I wanted to hide away from the world and hibernate.  I didn't want to be noticed, I wanted to continue chipping away, doing what I needed to do, and progressing towards my goals.  Once I have reached these goals, then I want to step forward and shine and be noticed.  And in that moment, that is when I will go back to blonde, back to my old self, only better, fresher, busting with creativity, just like a holiday.

Slow Down

I had some paperwork for a client to sign today.  I sat with him and the papers and handed him a pen.  I told him to sign on each page.  He carefully and thoughtfully signed on each page.  He signature was slow, deliberate, and I found myself starting to get irritated that his signature wasn't quick and fast like mine.  He had just finished the first page when I would have been done by now.  He handed me the first page and I looked down.  He had the most beautiful handwriting, his signature was a piece of art.  I looked over as he signed the next page.  His pen moved across gracefully and he wrote clearly every letter in his name.  It was as if he was typing his name into Word and using a fancy font.  

As I watched him sign each page I became memorised.  The pen was dancing on the paper and I was envious of the detail it recorded.  I wished my own hands could create writing that beautiful.  He handed me the last page and I signed away.  My scribble.  Just a quick flick of the pen, done, next.  It doesn't even look like my name, it doesn't even look like my initials just a scribble my dog could have drawn with a pen in his mouth.  

When I sat back at my desk after he had left I looked at my notes.  There was my messy handwriting all over the page.  My penmanship says one thing about me.  Rushed.  Or maybe the correct word is impatient.  If I make a mistake, misspell a word for example, I just cross it out and write next to it or above it.  I do not have the patience to bother with white out.  I don't have the patience to make it neat either.  Just like school.  Most of the girls had girly handwriting and took the time to put little love hearts in their "i" 's.  Not me.  I wrote too hard and fast my hand would cramp up.  And here I am and nothing has changed.  I type whenever I can because it is less strain on my hand, and it is neater and faster.  And has spellcheck.

My client made me pause and reflect.  He has terminal cancer, not long to go and he still took the time to sign his name with care and attention.  Maybe it is time I did the same.  A reminder to make time each day to step away from this instant world and pause.  Do something with care, with attention, with detail and with pride.  Stop rushing trying to capture everything and do everything, but instead pick out the important bits, and do them well, with patience, to ensure a beautiful result each time.