Thursday, August 23, 2012
This was a day of small gifts. Little considerations and efforts, nothing too pronounced.
I drove to my friend's house to drop off a card for her birthday. Bright gold, very cheery, with a sparkling mass of curling silver and white ribbon draping off of it. I propped it by her blue front door.
In yoga, I had unrolled my mat at the back of the room. A woman entered and glanced towards me. I recognized her from the previous week and remembered her being where I was. "Oh," I said, "Is this your spot? Let me move."
I slid my mat four feet to the right and cleared a space for her. She protested, but I had already done it. I didn't care where I practiced.
"Oh, "she said, a bit embarrassed, "You must have overheard me talking to the teacher?"
"No, I didn't hear you at all. I really didn't."
"I was only joking," she said. "I told her, hey, that's my spot, underneath the fan."
"See," I replied, "I just had a feeling that you wanted it."
And I did too. I just knew she actually wanted to be in her usual place. I don't have a usual place in that room so I don't care at all.
I've been writing a lot of good stuff lately, and spending a good amount of time on it. I see that as a gift as well.