Sometimes I amaze myself with my inability to recognize the obvious.
Last week I walked to the library, keeping a steady pace for the two and a half miles there. Sure, I hadn’t changed shoes for the outing, but shoes are made for walking, right? Curious, then, that my heels should hurt so badly. Must have developed a blister, I thought, which turned out to be true enough. In fact the blisters were so thoroughly developed that they reached the peak of blister civilization before a most dramatic and painful decline, which is to say that I arrived home and peeled off my socks to find them bloodied. Ah. Guess that explains why reading Cavafy the whole way home wasn’t enough to distract me from my feet hurting. Good job, genius.
Then there was the afternoon I ate a bowl of French onion soup and was surprised on finishing it that I felt so warm all of a sudden.
Or the day when I set up one of the three floor lamps I bought a couple years back and was surprised and delighted by the fact that my room was suddenly better-lit, as though I had not once already grown impatient with a dim living space and acquired a remedy. Somehow I let a year pass without realizing that it was in my power to make the day seem longer and the room warmer and my very self more lively.
The worse by far was my weeks and weeks of failure to recognize that cutting oneself off from the Creator of all beauty was not a very effective way to find anything beautiful or worthwhile – not in myself, nor in anything or anyone else.