On A Day In July

Context:

I am stuck inside on this July day because wildfire smoke from Canada is making the air dangerous to breathe and the sky orange.

The air filters we ran during Covid to trap the deadly aerosols are now up from the basement, dusted, and running.

We were planning on going blueberry picking this afternoon, but instead G went to the blueberry place and bought already-picked ones and a teeny-tiny blueberry pie, and we ate it with vanilla ice cream and ruined our dinner.

The joys of July.

Outfit:

Day 10 of my Ashtanga commitment is in the books. A streak has begun. Each day I put on the same mandala Yogaz pants, a Lulu fitted tee, and tie my hair up in a bandeau headband. I stand in front of a full-length mirror, greet my image, and begin.

When I’m finished, I set the Insight Timer app for 10 minutes. A Basu bell begins and ends the practice, and a woodblock clacks at the halfway point.

After that, I open the Breathe app and do 10 minutes of 5:5:5:5 Box breathing, guided by Female Voice #2.

After that, I pick a short arm workout from betterdays.fitness that I downloaded from Instagram into my Notes app. I do this 5-minute routine 2 times. 

Something is better than nothing. Path is goal, goal is path. 

A potential T-shirt.

This virtue cascade starts with the yoga commitment, and everything that follows is extra dominoes. 

I switch into shorts and a tee and take the dogs. Bella takes a dirt bath in a pile of soft silt on the path. When we get to the top of the hill, my eyes start to water and the dogs are panting harder than usual.  We turn back. Too much for my eyes and little dog lungs.

I settle in for the write. Purple ink over pages and pages, hoping something will spark. I dig out my entry from this day last year: G took herself out of the running for A.D.

I read some Substacks, hoping to jumpstart my idea battery.

I like to read Substacks. All kinds. People write everything from how their dog died last night, to how they make bouquets from their garden and put them in jars in front of their house for free.

Little moments.

Sad little moments and happy little moments. People write about what they worry about: 

51% of people read 0 books last year. 

And what they amuse themselves with:

A notebook just for doodles, lists, and random thoughts. They post pics.

I read all these writers and get something from all of them. Sometimes it’s good news (the flowers) and sometimes it’s disturbing (the books, ugh).  But if the writing is coherent and lively, I like that. I’m their audience.

But “audience” is the wrong word. I’m not a head in a dark auditorium with a crowd of other heads. Rather, I’m in their head with them, wondering with them, curious with them, listening in on their meditation, training my ear to their thoughts, trying them on. Like an outfit. 

Do I like their style? Do I like how they put their thoughts together? Do they have flair? Taste? What are they signaling?

After this, I come back to the purple ink. I try to imagine Future Kath. Kath a year from today, looking back at today. 

Future Kath has been practicing every day for a year, doing the yoga, the writing, the weights. She’d been reading the books, posting the blog. She’s not worrying about her voice, her audience, her niche.

She’s not shaming or blaming herself for never keeping her commitments. 

Along the path, she found breath and the words to match. She found that the weights strengthened both her soul and her biceps. She learned how to write meditations in the soul’s gym.

Meditations on an orange sky.

Meditations on a blueberry pie.

Meditations on a day in July.