What nourishes me
A list…
What nourishes me?
Food: frozen rice and bean burritos from Costco with a scoop of hummus (unless we have salsa). Snickerdoodle cashew milk ice cream, miso pasta, giant kale salads with homemade croutons and crispy tofu. Movement: Midday runs when the sun is at its peak. Starting every run downhill, feeling freedom in my legs, cold air splaying on my face. Also: early morning yoga as the sun climbs its way up and over, my spine is so stiff and I simply stand in forward fold, clasp my hands behind my neck, gently tug everything towards the earth. Sun salutations as the sun heats the house. Placing a whole raspberry in my mouth and sucking in — feeling it collapse into itself, or placing my tongue in the opening and feeling its inside texture. Waking up and sitting at the top of the stairs, the dogs galloping up to greet me, getting in prime position for belly rubs. Huge sips of water through a straw when I’m thirsty, a hot shower when my feet are freezing. Hobbling back into my cocoon of sheet and blanket after a mid-night pee. Only taking seconds to fall back into sleep. The first page of a new book, creating creases in its spine. The final ink details on a painting, holding it all together. Making a circular circle with a pencil, freehand. Remembering how to read bass clef, slowly, figuring out chords that sound nice together. The first sip of coffee in the morning, the smell of our wood-burning stove. Deep massages into my right shoulder from Alfredo. How he hugs me when I wake. The moments when we laugh uncontrollably at something nobody else would think funny. The moment our bodies touch the hot tub water, freezing for four seconds as we galavant awkwardly from the porch to tub. Sinking in past our shoulders, placing our backs against the jets. The sunrise every single morning, knowing what time it is by simply looking out the window. The sky is a work of magnificent art. Neon orange, baby blue, dark purple, mauve, inky blue clouds. A sip of strong whisky, or a dirty gin martini. A competitive game of Code Names. The satisfaction of all the dog hair stuck on the Swiffer pad. Hitting publish, or send. Calls with old friends that warm my chest. Walks in the quiet mountains. The fox’s little face making eye contact with me. The white lights of our little Christmas tree, the look in their eyes as we divide up the dog food. Backing up the long and curved driveway in one attempt. The bookshelf color coordinated. Cracking bones in my pelvis and ankles, pointing my toes for a stretch in the front of my foot. When the airplane wheels touch down in a new place. The smell of a foreign airport. The sound of my passport being stamped: da-clunk. Fancy face wash on special mornings, clean sheets and comforters. The final shovel of snow. When it’s so warm at night I don’t need any layers or extra light. When the car heater finally starts to work. Scratching an itch directly on the mid-back. A full tank of gas, $2/5 fruit deals at Kings Soopers. Fork-tender potatoes, crispy edges, globs of ketchup. High-quality hand soap, deep belly breaths, loud exhales through the mouth. Rolling out the mat, music that touches my ribs, playing a song over and over. Discover Weekly getting it right. The smell of pine and lavender, a podcast that makes me laugh out loud on a run. A smooth, sharp, inky pen. An empty inbox. A surprise letter, the popping of the fire. Rosa curled up next to me as I write this, chin resting on her paw, head on the pillow. A new Fleet Foxes album, or listening to a song I haven’t heard in 10 years and it bringing me back to that moment, usually on the subway. Sweet corn on the cob. Side stretches. Heated seats. Soft slippers. Sounds of the river and rain. The sound of quiet. Relaxing my jaw, my body in compete ease, in complete fullness.
