The Lightness Of Being

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“The lightness of being” refers to a philosopher mentioned in the opening pages of a novel, “The Unbearable Lightness Of Being.” A lightness to whom weight is negative.

The lightness of being means accepting a certain lack of meaning in life. It refers to momentary beauty, what sparkles and then is gone, like a firefly in the darkness.

It’s there, and then it’s gone. So you drink in that, that moment. And savor it for having seen it, if only momentarily.

Can you believe it’s the first of December? I’ve now lived here for a month, and what a delightful month it has been! I’ve had neighbors over, as well as my daughters and grandkids. I’ve decorated much of this house, and on Friday, I had a great lunch with Steve.

I am dotting a bit of Christmas here and there. Sparingly.

Steve & Maureen:

Steve and I get along so well. I couldn’t have asked for a better next-door neighbor. I met him just outside his front door one evening while Teri was with me. They were leaving, and we were going inside. He was pushing his late wife, Maureen, in a wheelchair.

I had just moved into that apartment. And just a few days later, an ambulance was summoned, though I never heard the commotion. Maureen died in the hospital just a few days after that.

Steve and I turned to one another and became good friends. I was new and didn’t know anyone. And he was grieving and staggering under his grief that he always kept to himself. He didn’t talk about her unless I brought her up. I guess he wanted to hold her memory for himself.

He didn’t like to eat alone after being married for 23 years and sharing meals with Maureen. I don’t care if I eat alone or not. But I had meals with Steve for a while there because it seemed to comfort him.

Then he met his girlfriend and began spending a lot of time with her. Now, since I’ve moved, when I see him, it’s just him and me—and Ivy, of course. No other neighbors are milling in and out, not that I really minded. But they interrupted many of our conversations by coming in and out of that patio door.

Conversations Between Friends:

Now Steve and I have good conversations; no interruptions unless it’s his phone. I don’t do the whole phone as an extension of myself thing. I don’t keep it with me at all times. When I’m with someone, I want to be “with” them and have no phone intrusions. But I know I’m in the minority.

But it’s the way it is now. Everyone’s phone is practically an appendage of their body.

I’m just kind of “old school” in many ways. There are no emojis in my texts. I don’t use shortcuts like “u” instead of writing “you.” Because I love words, and these aren’t words. They are shortcuts and trends. They are a short way, or shorthand, of getting somewhere that, to me, should take longer.

Words are a highly seasoned gift.

I also don’t indulge in selfies. Why do some people think others want to see the meal they ordered in a restaurant or what they wear? I just don’t get it. That whole posing thing. It doesn’t make sense to me.

But that’s just my opinion.

Pretty Images & Social Media:

I like to look at pretty images online; I won’t lie. It is a comfort I allow myself. That’s what social media means to me.

I enjoy looking at photos of decorative homes or gardens. I’m not inclined to do anything except look, though. I very rarely engage.

To me, social media is on the spectrum of the unbearable lightness of being. Photos, likes, and comments appear and then are quickly gone and sucked into the online atmosphere.

Are they worth your time? I don’t know what to say. Obviously, I write words here, and then the page is quickly turned to another subject—like lightning in the face of thunder. It flickers brightly and then is gone.

On Instagram, I see images of holiday decorating, and they mostly just seem so full—almost too much for the eye to take in. They are staged with some sort of meaning by the person who created them.

Sparingly:

This year, I decorated my home sparingly for the holidays. I like that word: sparingly. It means many things to many people. It is a lovely word, just the sound of it.

Small amounts. Not being wasteful. Now and then. A little of this and a little of that.

The one thing I don’t want to do sparingly is read. I’m always going to be reading a book. I’m never not reading a book.

Books were sort of my lifeline growing up. They were a diversion from real life. The town library was more my home than the one I lived in. It was my refuge.

As an adult, I found inspiration and awe when I put a camera around my neck. I photographed water flowing in currents, followed crude roads in dirt and grass, and found gems in merely ordinary things.

That sound of water rushing is hard to capture with a camera. It’s as if the water is on its way somewhere and must get there fast. I couldn’t capture the sound with just my camera, but I could capture the essence of it.

What Is Aloneness?

I’ve always been happiest living inside my head, and my “aloneness” is a friend I would never want to give up. Some would think that “aloneness” is a sad word, but it isn’t to me. I don’t get lonely for people. My “aloneness” is a wonderful thing that I cherish.

“Aloneness” can lead to living inside your head where creativity blooms. In whatever way you choose, convey your thoughts without saying it out loud. When you’re with people, it’s hard to hear that muse.

Knowing I owned those words made me put one foot before the other. I felt that one day, I would escape the grayness and find my own light, create my own window with happiness just on the other side.

And I just knew that words would take me there.

All that matters is that I’m happy and content now. I don’t feel that danger is around the corner or that the grayness might absorb my contentment at any given time. There was once grayness, and now there is light.

Something more substantial than the unbearable lightness of being.

And Life Is Good:

My life is good and meaningful now. But it took me a long time to get here. I trudged down many paths of darkness before I found my light.

If you have never lived in that gray world, how would you know the worth of what is on the other side? How do you feel true happiness if you did not walk down a dismal, sorrowful path to get there?

If you have never walked in darkness, how do you know the lightness of being when you finally stumble upon it?