Field Note: Inhabiting the Good Life

Field Note: Inhabiting the Good

On the drive home from work, the light was golden. The sound was full of little waves catching it, and the clouds stretched wide, blushing with colors that seem particular to autumn here. The air was neither hot nor cold, just refreshing. After several days, the wind had become a little tiresome. It was also making everything shimmer.

It was a beautiful drive home, worth savoring. And I did.

I enjoyed my music. Sang with the radio. Eased off the gas and let the hurried traffic pass. By the time I reached the bridge, much of it was waiting at a light to turn left. I cruised ahead, the sky opened up, and the flags waved in the wind.

On the next stretch, I let more space grow between us until I was practically alone on the bridges. Water, sky, golden light. That is the Outer Banks I love. There was room to enjoy it when I let everyone else go ahead.

I have been thinking about attention—how much of my life I spend giving it away, and how deliberately I can choose where it rests.

There are things that pull at our attention through noise, urgency, or provocation. Sometimes they catch mine for a few seconds, sometimes a few minutes. Then I pivot. I return to what I was doing, what I care about, what I want to experience.

A good day gives me room to do that easily. On harder days, especially when I’m tied to a desk and the interruptions keep appearing, returning to myself takes more effort. I appreciate the freedom to leave, to move, to let some distance open up.

Some things deserve a response. Others can pass through without becoming the subject of my whole evening. I am learning to recognize the difference and let that shit go.

I can notice an unpleasant moment and leave it where it happened. Even here it doesn’t get a full mention. So I can weight my attention toward the water, catch the next song, and continue home.

At home, I made a stir-fry, and we ate with chopsticks and spoons. I listened to Stevie Nicks and The Pretenders. I even made a savory broth with little bits of chicken to pour over Harris’s dry food so he could enjoy a special supper, too. Later, we walked around the marina. The wind had left it quiet, with room to meander and take our time.

Gratitude. For all the opportunities to pivot and redirect my attention.

That is something nature has taught me. The waterways and the sky always offer somewhere else to look, something worth noticing.

These are the things I want to build a life around: making something good to eat, caring for those I love, moving through the evening with enough attention left to enjoy where I am. Maybe dancing a little and singing badly along with the radio.

There is sadness, frustration, anger, and disappointment in a shared world. I still wish we took better care of it and one another. I give weight to the ways we do my souls sake. There is kindness here, too, and care worth noticing. I want to leave room to receive it. I want to have energy to create it, and I do.

Accepting what I cannot change allows me to choose what I keep close. Today, I could make a good meal for my family. Give Harris a lovely, unhurried walk. Let the beauty of the drive stay with me longer than its interruptions. Immortalize it a little. Weight it heavier than traffic and human idiocy. God, we are wasting so much of a good thing. I shake my head at the systems we’ve put in place. I name them. Then say NOT MINE. And let it go.

Aware. But no longer attached.

I breathe in. I breathe out. I let the day settle, keeping what nourishes me and loosening my hold on the rest.

The dunes wear down and gather again. The wind moves through. The landscape keeps changing, even where it seems permanent. I can let the passing unpleasantness belong to that larger movement, without carrying every grain of it home.

This is how I want to curate the life I inhabit: with care for what I bring into it, what I tend, and what I allow to pass.

Today, I let the traffic and the noise effect me for a few moments then I consciously pulled back and let it go ahead. Not mine.

I took the golden light home and put that energy into a good meal, a good walk, and love for my family.