The Art of Leisure

What is this life, if full of care
We have no time to stand and stare?

Thus wrote W.H.Davies, a poet I studied while at school. To his credit, I still remember most of the lines, which proves how wonderfully memorable the poem must have been.

I regret to say though, that I'm not much good when it comes to implementation,the follow-through, so to speak. In my defense, I have no stream to navigate myself through, and there are no woods in the vicinity, as for squirrels, I really do wonder if they even manage to lay their furry little paws on any nuts these days, what with the recession and all.

In short, I'm a failure at the art of leisure.

My mind refuses to let me be. I'm so bad that, even at a yoga class, I have to be convinced to lie down for the shavasana. Being on the move all the time is the only way to be in my book. Of course, that's a horribly wrong way to live, because when life does decide to pull the brakes on you, you feel like someone has sucked all the oxygen out of the atmosphere.

That's precisely what happened to me. I managed to land up in a profession where one has two choices- be ultra-busy and non-selective about what one does, or be ultra-choosy and sitting at home a lot.

Three guesses for which choice I'm currently living with the consequences thereof.

To make matters worse, I'm not in the least domestically inclined, and before you label me as a feminist, let me also state that I'm rendered thoroughly helpless without my driver. He is, quite literally, the only way out for me. Oh, and also, I cannot bear to go into restaurants and movie theatres alone.

Permit me to feel a tinge of self-pity at this juncture.

Of course, there are tons of things that one can do to keep oneself occupied. I've started on some Hindustani lessons, as well as some Hindi lessons, because really, the two are mutually-dependent on each other. I spend a lot of quality time with my dog Cuddles, and blatantly ignore my other dog Pooch, who doesn't seem to mind anyway. I play the piano when I'm in a good mood, and hammer at the keys in an anti-tuneful fashion when the good mood is on sick leave. I manage to remember to change the varnish on my toes every week or ten days, something I've never been capable of until now. I'm still a manicure virgin though. There, I said it.

The only time I'm ever able to relax these days is when the sky turns a promising shade of grey. That's right, the prospect of rain cheers me up immensely. The sound of thunder is music to my ears, the flash of lightning that splits the sky and throws it open is the stuff that my dreams are made of. The glistening green outside my window giving in to the wind without a struggle makes me close my eyes and sigh.

And then, truly, I'm content to just stand and stare.

P.S: The poem's title is Leisure. Go ahead and google it.