Day 16 -- Zooming
I've never been a big fan of retail therapy. I like to think of myself as savvy enough to understand that no shiny new thing is going to fill the hole in me that always, sometimes more and sometimes less, needs filling. And yet, I'm certainly capable--exceedingly!--of being delighted by cool stuff. So, take a look at what I swam in today.
They're called Zoomers.
And they did make me zoom, compared to my usual snail-slogging-through-pond-scum pace. Thinking about my swim, I realize that being as happy as I was wearing these bright yellow water shoes lifted me right out of my workaday doldrums. I felt how gently yet rapidly I slid through the water. I noticed that I became more energetic as my enthusiasm mounted. My goggles fogged up sooner than usual. I felt how my legs and feet responded to the unfamiliar speed by coiling and uncoiling. In short, I found myself immersed in more than the water; I was solidly in the moment.
Maybe that's one reason people love buying something cool. One take on the satisfaction generated by fancy acquisitions is that material objects distract us from the banality and hopelessness of our rudderless lives. Could be true. How about a more positive notion? That focusing on the pleasures of possessing something nice temporarily opens our senses to the experience of joy?
As the wise woman often says (and you can ask my children who that wise woman is), maybe the truth lies somewhere in the middle.
They're called Zoomers. And they did make me zoom, compared to my usual snail-slogging-through-pond-scum pace. Thinking about my swim, I realize that being as happy as I was wearing these bright yellow water shoes lifted me right out of my workaday doldrums. I felt how gently yet rapidly I slid through the water. I noticed that I became more energetic as my enthusiasm mounted. My goggles fogged up sooner than usual. I felt how my legs and feet responded to the unfamiliar speed by coiling and uncoiling. In short, I found myself immersed in more than the water; I was solidly in the moment.
Maybe that's one reason people love buying something cool. One take on the satisfaction generated by fancy acquisitions is that material objects distract us from the banality and hopelessness of our rudderless lives. Could be true. How about a more positive notion? That focusing on the pleasures of possessing something nice temporarily opens our senses to the experience of joy?
As the wise woman often says (and you can ask my children who that wise woman is), maybe the truth lies somewhere in the middle.
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