Live Grand and Feast On Memory

The balcony offers a little corner escape, a hiding place, right out in the open, and the crisp cool air chills me, awakening me as well as any cup of coffee. A dog sits on the balcony opposite me, looking forlorn, hanging sorrowful eyes my way, begging for a pet; crows caw for each other over the squeaking wheels of a suitcase dragged on the alley pavement and a truck beeps to warn of its backing somewhere in the distance.

The day starts here. I take this cool as my companion, these odd sounds as my morning song, that hangdog look as the beckoning call, and the golden light of the sun as my rising promise. In this practice of setting intent, I build a bridge in time, folding morning and evening moments into a mirror of each other so that I can see the whole thing in snipped scenes, even those on the edit floor and swept into the can, leaving a sumptuous flow, a life baked into a cake and frosted with love.

Why not live grand on the inside, loving life? Why not feast on memory and the made-up moments we compose out of our raw experience in life?

Why not be a hero, a lover, a movie star, an archetypal icon for the wayward found, for the lonely loved, for the curious set free in a land of wonder?

I start most days, after my morning routine of stretching and sometimes a walk, with a writing session to "set my intent." This means that I write something about how I might like to experience the day or what I might be like at the end of the day, creating a life worthy to feast on memory and made-up moments. How do you start your day? How do you craft your days with intention?

© Nick LeForce
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