the pleasure of small things…

You may not believe it, but there are days when I wish I could climb out of the bath tub hot nights, days when one cobbled colonial street looks pretty much another and I’d be tempted to choose the familiarity of my own bed over another adventure.

There are days when I’m tired of 5am wake ups in crowded rooms, of my poor bunk bed banged head, of the effort of finding a friendly smile and listening to another set of introductions to people I will never see again. There are days when all I want is to stay still, rather than packing up my bags and getting on another bus.

It’s a strange truth that even being free to have whatever fun you like, can get to be a fatigue. We seem to lose ourselves in the regular and it seems that even the rough routine of all change, can kill a little of the magic of life brimming with new experiences.

But when I am tired of the broad sweeps of here and now and next, there is beauty in the details. There are small things that catch my eye, little pleasures that make me smile, tiny tremor shake me and wake me up again to all I have to be thankful for, to all that one day I will miss.

I’m thankful for:

sharing the secret of a little girl’s smile.

the frivolous extravagance of french maid frilly pinnies over worn jeans on strong armed bus vendors.

the mucho macho chic of men in plastic cowboy hats and boots.

the tame fluffy bunny that hopped home around my hostel.

the smell of clean clothes that I didn’t have to hand wash myself.

empty seats for my bag and I on a crowded bus.

the almost miraculous double pleasures of hot water and water pressure  in the shower.

the bumpy bus ride window that opened out to a beautiful rolling vista just as the sun set.

the laughing online chats that makes friends seem not so far away.

warm rocks when the clouds come and the waterfall’s splash when they clear.

the absence of itch as some of my constellations of bites finally blink out.

the livid blue dragonfly that lingered as if just so as to be caught by my eye.

silly jokes with my travel family – the not-long-known people who somehow seem like old friends.

the cheap and cheerful culinary gorgeousness of peanut butter squished up with banana.

Sometimes it really is about the little things…

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5 Responses to the pleasure of small things…

  1. The things we carry are not always in the backpack…

  2. Talk to me...I'm your Mother says:

    It’s true. Love is in the little moments of gratitude. Do you wonder why you move when you would like to stay still?

    • Hello Talk to me I’m your mother, good question. I have been asking myself why I’m moving. I had few good reasons. A friend a promised to meet and a frantic Easter Week I wanted to be well away from the cities by… but I have promised myself some time to stop and sit still very soon.

  3. cuhome says:

    It’s all about the little things, as you said! Well put. I remember, as a teenager, touring Europe, and having the thought that “these people are the same as at home, really, only they’re in a different place”. What I meant, was the humanness was the same. But the decor was different. Thanks for the posts of your travels….

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