Super Savor

It's funny.  We live in a world where "more" is supposed to be "better" and yet, it's often the pauses that intensify my experiences or feelings.  Like the love of a child or an appreciation for a sunset, my feelings often grow stronger because of absence.

That's no secret, of course.  Regret, however twisted an emotion, is proof of this.  Take something away from me and I suddenly can't fathom my life without it.  Or believe how rich my life was because of it.  Or realize how stupid I was because of my casual past interaction with it. 

But I'd hate to give regret all of the power.  It is, after all, such a debilitating condition.

No, I'd like to give the nod to something more positive, something like the act of savoring, for instance.  A person can't savor anything if her mind is elsewhere, after all.  No, to savor something, I have to be fully present, and utterly unconcerned about the moment that came before or the one that surely will follow. 

Now that Eric is on his own, for instance, when he does find his way home, I'm amazed by the excellent colors we chose to put upon our walls.  And the way our chairs so comfortably hold a young body.  When he's in the house, the house becomes something more--something brighter, something steadier, something warmer.  And I savor the low hum that thrums through my being, that monastic chant of a soul well tended.

I think that this is one reason I love Thanksgiving so much.  It is an unpretentious holy day--holiday--focused on two of the most basic and necessary things in life--food and loved ones.  It is about sustenance, not bangles and buying more.  It is a holiday that lets us savor--savor a good meal, a stretched-out day, time with our loved ones. 

Even in the aftermath of hardship--death and disease, loss of jobs and separation--because of its simple structure, Thanksgiving manages to nudge from us the tiny gold threads of good things that run through our lives.  And we are left to savor the ordinary, made bright and shiny by the simple act of taking the time to acknowledge it.