the point of mindfulness
Mar. 4th, 2024 12:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hammerandsawThe more I go out with my camera, the more I start to notice beautiful details about the world that I would have normally overlooked. Like this rusty snowplow marker:
Or this broken stump that looked a bit like a video game spike pit if it was made of moldy cheese:
I am even starting to appreciate things about the world that had previously annoyed me. Where I live, moss grows on almost every surface. It is difficult to keep at bay, and it can cause expensive damage to structures. It makes the ridges slippery and difficult to climb. But it is also pretty in its own way. When it isn't eating through the roof.
It feels good to be back in touch with the world again. It feels good to do some attempts at slight realism. It feels good to be able to reflect on my day with these little write-ups. I know I will be writing about my day later on, so I pay more attention to what is happening around me. I've been keeping a journal in some capacity since I was about 15, but I fell out of the habit in the past few years. I didn't get enough time alone to actually write down my thoughts, and when I did, my hands hurt too much to actually do so. But things get jumbled up inside my brain, a tangle of vague concepts and feelings that bounce around in no particular order. It drives me crazy in increments. Writing helps me pin them down, place them in order, and make sense of them all. I can talk for hours and get nowhere, aggravating everyone around me in the process with my endless repetition. Or, I can write for 30 minutes. If I'm able to see what my previous thoughts were, I can figure out what these new ones are, and where they fit in. It helps me understand what I feel.
Or this broken stump that looked a bit like a video game spike pit if it was made of moldy cheese:
I am even starting to appreciate things about the world that had previously annoyed me. Where I live, moss grows on almost every surface. It is difficult to keep at bay, and it can cause expensive damage to structures. It makes the ridges slippery and difficult to climb. But it is also pretty in its own way. When it isn't eating through the roof.
It feels good to be back in touch with the world again. It feels good to do some attempts at slight realism. It feels good to be able to reflect on my day with these little write-ups. I know I will be writing about my day later on, so I pay more attention to what is happening around me. I've been keeping a journal in some capacity since I was about 15, but I fell out of the habit in the past few years. I didn't get enough time alone to actually write down my thoughts, and when I did, my hands hurt too much to actually do so. But things get jumbled up inside my brain, a tangle of vague concepts and feelings that bounce around in no particular order. It drives me crazy in increments. Writing helps me pin them down, place them in order, and make sense of them all. I can talk for hours and get nowhere, aggravating everyone around me in the process with my endless repetition. Or, I can write for 30 minutes. If I'm able to see what my previous thoughts were, I can figure out what these new ones are, and where they fit in. It helps me understand what I feel.
