Breathtaking
by Lisa Dalton
Sitting down at my desk I
try, once again, to write.
Being
fully aware that there is no try—only doing or not doing—I realize what
I really mean is to write something good. Every foray into the creative zone for me lately has been a
dismal, disappointing spewing of crap not worthy of rereading myself let alone
sharing with others. Yet here I sit,
once again, trying.
I
lean back and let my eyes wander around my office. Photos of beautiful places and inspirational phrases neither
transport nor inspire me, save for one that states: “Life is not measured by
the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath
away.” Ah. Breathtaking moments.
Let’s see...that weekend in Door County was breathtaking. Steve and I so shiny and new, wandering
through eclectic art shops, holding hands, falling in love. He bought me that plaque then; a souvenir of
our magical weekend together. I was
mesmerized by our comfortable banter, the electricity between us, his blue eyes
studying me so intently, so sincerely.
He truly took my breath away.
That
feels so long ago now.
Slumping
back, sliding deeper into my chair—and my gloom—I search my memory for recent
moments that have left me breathless.
Picture perfect Kodak moments don’t spring to mind but instead I recall
my sharp intake of breath at the audacity of something one of my sons has said
to me, leaving me feeling disrespected and forlorn. The shallow, wincing breaths I take while walking gently on my
fractured foot. A quick inhale as I
abruptly stop myself from saying something to Steve that I just know he really
doesn’t want to hear. Followed by a
deep sigh.
My
life has offered me few truly breathtaking moments lately. The good ones, I mean. A spectacular sunset, cradling a newborn
baby, the perfect kiss. The ones you
want to measure your life by. And yet,
if I go back far enough, I have been blessed with some real breath takers: giving birth to a child, diving to the
bottom of the ocean, saving a life, romantic adventure, my words being
published, hanging with rock stars and basking in dramatic sunrises and sunsets
across the globe. Finds of all
magnitude have made me catch my breath from finding the right guy to finding a
great house to finding a fantastic pair of shoes, in my size, on sale. More than enough moments to measure. My glass is not just half full—my cup
runneth over.
And
so what of the bad ones? A myriad of
breathless moments we collect in our lifetime that stop us in our tracks. The choking moments of loss, pain or grief
when we can’t breath at all. When life
knocks the wind out of us. When we are
hyperventilating in shock or anguish.
That is when we need to take a very deep breath. In and out.
Remembering that to breathe is
to inspire.
I
see the inspiration in my recent breathless moments, those that left me
frustrated or even pissed off. They
have moved me to detach when I need to, to look at myself and see where others
may be frustrated with me, to speak up about my life and my experience of
it. Each moment has inspired me to do
something. Even if it was to sit
down and put my throbbing foot up.
I
am sitting up taller in my chair now, pleased that I wrote something. It doesn’t feel like it’s very good, but it
isn’t total crap. I turn to look out
the window and am startled by the crimson and burnished gold of the leaves that
have turned so suddenly. I hadn’t
noticed yet that Fall has arrived. Sunlight pours down casting long shadows on
the ground as perfect clouds drift slowly across an azure sky. A breeze catches a flurry of loose, golden
leaves and carries them gently down to the rooftop below. Oh, my.
How pretty.
It’s
breathtaking.