Mental sanity is important and under appreciated. A open conversation on the topic is rare because of the potential perception of being associated with the unbalanced that crowd at the edges of society and respectable conduct.
However, I submit, to anyone open to listening, that it is an exercise needed for all of life’s stages. And not just for adults, but for all ages.
Sanity, I’ve found, is not a heavy object that can be muscled into being righted. No, it is an outlook on the world and situations and circumstances that only a perception change can correct. And to reach a new perception sometimes requires persuasion or learnings. It develops incrementally and blossoms into the person’s new reality.
The new perception, being a product of the mind, is powerful and once obtained is the filter through which all things are processed.
Mental sanity should be taken seriously with genuine efforts to mold and calm and cleanse our minds of unhealthy thoughts that seep into our behavior unknowingly.
Snow arrived this morning.
Not at the apartment. And not at the bus stop.
On the first bus to the subway the streets turned white.
At First It Seemed like dust or sand swirling. But then white droplets replacing rain fell.
The snow accumulated more and more on approach to the subway station on Bloor Street.
After procrastinating all morning and the afternoon I arrived at the office ready to pay off my work debt for the next five hours. And that I did.
The sound of the door opening frightened the sole person in a cubicle on a Saturday late afternoon. All I could see was everything above the halfway point of their eyes.
Working on a single document for duration of my stay generated a professional anger in realizing the depths of my debt. Ordered Pizza Nova for a second time and it was good.
Returning at night and it feels good. I think I’ll return on tomorrow.
The next time is not always the next.
It rains in Toronto. But lightly. It’s a polite rain and each raindrop seems to say sorry and excuse me and feels embarrassed to exist. Note: Picture taken the next day in the morning commute to work. The rain has friends: wind and cold. Alone each friend is not at its best but together the trio are dynamic and powerful. Buy a raincoat. The rain is also shy. It arrives and hangs around but never long. It’s polite in this way. But the rain still visits. Buy a raincoat. A raincoat that isn’t bulky. That’s packable in it’s own case. And one that’s lightweight.
The TTC in the evening is a good place to write. Less crowded and more noise and people just want to get home. And more laughing. She says:
Ahhahahahh. That’s hilarious. A whole hour. One more hour.
So hungry. The kind of hungry where you feel the lining of your stomach. I can feel the empty.
The powerful acids with nothing to do. Still and unmoved. Waiting for bait. Unused.
(Writing this the next morning.)
FreshCo, the local grocery market two blocks from the apartment, was the real stop. With $10 CAD purchased tomatoes, avocado, box of cookies, and bag of thin spaghetti from an unknown to me brand.
The box of cookies didn’t make it to the next morning.
The next morning I had a late start and got a sense for how many people can fit uncomfortably/comfortably in a standard sizes bus.
It was cold, a bit windy, and drizzling rain this morning.
It happens to everyone I presume. It can be sensed by others. The feeling absorbs and distracts. You become self conscious as you struggle through the experience and the unknowns.
The concerned look remains until you’ve unscrambled the puzzle.
This fear is the fear of not knowing your bus stop or knowing which direction your headed and unfamiliar surroundings.
Only last week did I have the same feelings. They’re still quite fresh and I’ve now recognized them in others.
It won’t be long before I experience it all over again and again. Soon I may lose the feeling altogether and that’s what I’m hoping for.
To never feel lost or confused or nervous.
One stop left. Lansdowne here, Dufferin next.
It’s a Sunday morning and I’m headed to the office. I decided this Saturday. Awoke at a reasonable early time and enjoyed the routine. It was a feeling of being unrushed and with no one expecting me in the office I felt no pressure to hurry myself.
It’s the Sunday before the Canadian Thanksgiving. I’ve been in Toronto for a few days beyond a month and have been in the near-downtown condo for a week and a day and I observe no holiday spirit. In the US you can sense that something is happening even being cut off from all media as I’ve been here.
It’s a lazy Sunday with few pedestrians and equally few bus riders and subway goers. A typical weekday is never as sparse. “The next station is Old Mill, Old Mill station” says the invisible voice. “Arriving at Old Mill, Old Mill station” she assures.
Another thirty minutes and the office building should come into sight. Had I not forgotten my TTC card this morning, only to realize my mistake feet away from the stop for the 29 bus, would this morning’s commute not be so extended as it has been.
Future self: Never ever forget your TTC card.
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