Small Spring pleasures

Just me trying to sort out how to stop overanalyse and to enjoy the moment more

I'm on a train to a lunchtime reading at the Orange Tree Theatre. My body and mind feel still and calm. I went to a circuit class this morning, slightly overdid it on a pulled shoulder muscle that's still healing but am otherwise very well. I'm here, having listened to Self-Esteem telling me If not now then soon, and I’m reading the recent booker prize winner Orbital.

I'm admiring the earrings of the girl in front of me to the left (they are a pair of small books that have an owl on each cover.) In front of me to the right there's what I think is a follower of Hare Krishna with their eyes closed.

I'm reading my book but I hear disrupted breathing which catches my attention – it's someone crying. I turn my head round, trying to locate the sound and a lady behind me is trying to do the same. I want to offer help but I don't have any tissues or chocolate, just a small tub of almonds I take with me when I go to the theatre, which I worry is too healthy to be of comfort to someone in tears.

The sobs continue, and I hear the lady behind me asking the girl if she's okay. Emboldened I go and offer her some almonds, saying I wished I had chocolate with me. Smiling she accepts. They're sweet at least so maybe they'll do the trick.

I remember coming back from therapy once and having a cry on the train. The girl next to me, without a word, leaned over and offered me a biscuit. Now I always try and do the same.

I get to the theatre, the weather is sunny and watch three short plays I’ve never seen before by a writer I love, who died the year I was born. The day is an embarrassment of riches. The woman in the row in front of me strikes up a conversation with me.

Part of why I love writing my Substack, is that it gives me space to take a collection of seemingly disparate thoughts and ideas and gives me a small space to make sense of them. To attach or derive some meaning from the events of a week, and in doing so, have a sense of ... insight Illumination? Agency

Which ... I mean there are worse ways of passing the time. But having a brain hard wired to find meaning, often means you aren’t always as present as you could be. And not being present means you miss a lot. Simple everyday pleasures. The shift in seasons is a gentle reminder to take small pleasures as and when I can get them.

I was always the girl in the class with my hand up, I had the answer and was desperate to tell everyone else. And as a writer, I always want to say the clever insightful thing that no one else is saying. Same energy.

This is in direct contrast to the writing – books, plays, substacks etc – that I enjoy. As I get older, I find I’m less interested in what people think, I’m more interested in who they are.