the good life or...chasm

                                                

 

 Chasm....

1. A deep, steep-sided opening in the earth's surface; an abyss or gorge.

2. A sudden interruption of continuity; a gap.

3. A pronounced difference of opinion, interests, or loyalty.

So this is what we can call it. 

This sudden interruption of a happy life.

The dreaded pothole, 
that I keep falling into. 

the painful interruption of continuity;

the new gap;

the pronounced difference of interest and loyalty.   

God. Just writing that slices me wide open.

This abrupt change from enjoying my days:

morning tea, chat about the day's plans, off to work and interactions away from each other and joyful reunions to discuss, laugh and plan the evening -dinner, music, maybe movie and popcorn...

Add... the chasm. 

then what?

Well. 
Me.

Just me.

Trying to make sense of "the new now" ( I hate this-his favorite and SO over-used phrase).

Trying to remember my solid happy self.

I do the things that bring me joy. That make me smile. That make me feel alive.

When I can, I write,  if I can do that, life gets better.

When I can't, I walk. 

When I can't do that I take pictures, pick flowers, or watch movies and drink wine. 

When I can I skype with my buddies and they remind me of my best self. 

I want to be the friend they know. 

So sometimes I pretend that I am. 
And I go out in the world and smile and interact. I've met new friends and they take me at my word... 

at my smile.

We go forth to buy plants and lunch

and meet for coffee and walks. 

And sometimes for hours I believe I am the happy person they see. 

I am. 

For awhile.

Sometimes for days. Even weeks.

and then during a beautiful sunny birdsong 

I can trip and fall 
into the chasm.

It's cold, surprisingly deep
and very dark.

Obverse effect....

I look happy, I act happy,

I get happy.

Perhaps

the sadness is just a bit of now habitual, residual weight,

not to be confused with true misery?

I am imminently distractable.

For example, because of my ip address, a lot of the ads we see along side our screens now for me show up in french. One in particular looked like a recipe for a potato dish, it looked liked a nice gratin sort of thing. Being easily seduced by food, I clicked.  
I looked at the ingredients, some kind of potatoes, dry white wine, salt, pepper,  creme fraiche, looked good. But I was stumped by the first ingredient- Chaussée aux moines (was this something to do with shoes? was it a nut?) so I googled it. 

The translation- "Floor monks". 

I thought maybe the potato description might clear things up for me...

"à chair fondante". Translation- "melting flesh". 

This type of gratin no longer appeals. No matter the photo.

Whatever the hell they do to the poor monks with potatoes I don't wanna know.

So though I may not be hungry, I'm off somewhere else for a little while.

I can lose myself at the market. Again and again. 
I smile a lot there. Children asking for sweets. Men carrying market baskets. The smells of meat cooking. Little old women with their baskets on wheels. Today I heard a vendor singing "raindrops keep falling on my head" in french(her awning was dripping). I found the truffle man. I bought a truffle and some of his strawberries. For the first time I sat alone at a cafe and ordered "un café". I felt like I had graduated to something. I felt like I belonged. It felt different and good. 
I hope it felt like healing.

I've met a new wonderful friend. Her name is Helen and she's awesome. She's Australian and lives in Pézanas with her son. She came over for tea and then took me up to see the windmills in Faugere this week. A beautiful 360 degree view. We could see all the way to the sea, rolling hills, vineyard after vineyard and snowy mountains.

 those are snow capped Pyrénées

I'll keep looking 
and finding the good life. 
Over
and over
til it sticks.