a conversation:

I could fill page after page with questions I don't want to answer. Recently someone asked, "What are you pretending to not know?" At first I thought it was silly.

Then it sunk in and I became frustrated that I understood the question. My answer? I'm pretending to not know what the question means.

Once, I tried to practice the prayer of examen--a series of questions and prayers set aside for the end of the day. In essence, they create space to pause, review, and notice what we chose to ignore that day. For nothing goes unnoticed by our subconscious.

Nothing, unfortunately.

What habits and life patterns do I notice?
When did I feel most fully myself?
Least myself?

Last week I had a conversation with a new friend who works with ex-gang members and at-risk youth. He's overwhelmed with his work in LA but explained that it's far worse in Bakersfield, where there is a huge gang problem and a near-paralyzing lack of hope. He shook his head, looked me in the eye and said, "I don't want to go to Bakersfield, because if I go to Bakersfield, then I have to care about Bakersfield."

Because once you care about one thing, you care about about everything.

Whom did I neglect?
Where did I neglect myself?

Some days I sit in traffic, and I swear, it is life wasted.

What did I avoid today?

Some days I sit in traffic, and in those moments of idle I live the most.

When did I feel the most whole?

Someone once asked where I do most of my songwriting. Without hesitation, I responded, "When I'm driving on the 60."

Most fragmented?

Yesterday, someone asked how I'm doing. How I'm really doing. I presented him with a mostly honest, but sugar-coated answer: I'm trying to figure out how to give myself permission to slow down in a city that makes people feel guilty and unimportant when they do.

Where was I hurt without anyone noticing?

He told me he was depressed for the first four months he lived here.

What differences did I notice in those closest to me?

A week ago, a family I love lost their father/grandfather. I went to the store right away and bought a sympathy card to send to them, but I still haven't sent it. I haven't forgotten them, in fact I've been thinking about them a lot. I feel terribly about it, and can't understand why simple things become unnecessarily difficult to complete.

I suppose I feel that way about a lot of things. Things I know I should do but can't seem to finish.

Or start.

What new thoughts visited me?
When could I have exposed myself to the risk of something different?

I pretend to not know why I haven't finished them. I pretend to not know why I haven't started them.

What did I begin today that might endure?

Today my best friend asked when I'm going to move to New York. I told her it's too late. I can't leave now. I already love people here.

With whom today did I feel most myself?

We agreed that we've both been under the spell of nostalgia recently, wondering if it's just a side effect of the turning of the seasons. Perhaps autumn has us bent toward the past.

When did I have the greatest sense of belonging?
When did I feel most alone?

I might be a little over-dressed today. I'm wearing a scarf and a jacket. It's so cold in my house in the morning, now that the weather has cooled down a bit. Today I woke up wrapped in my giant hooded sweatshirt--hood on and all--in need of a hot cup of anything to warm me up. I escaped the cold in my house and walked down the street to the coffee shop, where the staff greeted me by name and started on my usual Americano. For here.

I chose a table in the sun and opened a book to pass the time. Later, the owner came out to talk, wondering what book I was reading.

Who saw me today?

How were my conversations?

I finished the book about an hour later, which I feel is more than a minor accomplishment, since I've been reading through this book for a year now. Above all things, it taught me that there isn't anything people aren't capable of recovering from. Near the close of the book, the author recounted all she had seen and done during that particular season of her life; a season that now seemed to be drawing to a close.

I reflected on my current season. I could feel the tug of my oh-so-familiar longings and dreams.

I reached into my bag, and pulled out the sympathy card I've been carrying around for a week. I wrote a note inside, then sealed and addressed the envelope.

I glanced over to the book I had just finished reading. My mind shifted back to those dreams.

From the evidence--why was I given this day?