November arrived on a glorious Sunday of blue skies, crisp air, and sunbeams cutting through the forests in Southern Bohemia.
I spent the weekend surrounded by nature and the oldest friends in my life. It was a weekend of scrumptious indulgence; homemade carrot cake, pasta with cherry tomatoes and tuna, rabbit with cabbage, excellent coffee, and a bottle of white wine. These and a hearty conversation heavily interrupted with laughter are the ingredients that make a weekend the way it’s meant to be.
I remember as a kid it’s what we used to do. Get together with our favorite people over food, and everything else would just come on its own. It feels as though this art of living life to the fullest with a sense of relevance, not in a materialistic way, was lost somewhere in the last decade. Lately I’ve been paying attention to this more.
I mean, these are the things that matter. I’ve been slipping away at the edges of meaningfulness in my life. Relationships with those around me, ingredients that I put in my body, and topics that overload my brain but contribute to very little. I lost touch with nature, with humanity. Perhaps, as a result of ten years in an overcrowded Asian city, perhaps not. I lost touch with the person I’ve always aspired to be. But now it’s all slowly coming back, like the first sun rays in spring, thawing away the icy surface, warming and awakening the heart inside.
Despite the difficulties of the past few months, I believe that, come actual spring, everything will fall into place. It’s the only reason for all of this.