SLOW
PICKLES
relishing life
By Heera Alaya
January 1st, 2021
Sitting on this pier pile, with the best views of the gleaming United States Capitol and proximity to luxury yachts, gliding planes, and energetic bikers and scullers, I lived what appeared to be an envious life.
The hardwood marine wooden stump, my home, though no longer part of a tree and denied its energy source, had embraced the water sediments and weather elements, forming an attractive patina. Moreover, the wooden piles were still functional—housing small birds, like myself, and securing large boats. In sharp contrast, I remained static—a spectator. My life was nothing to covet.
Having secured my comfortable spot, I subscribed to an impoverished existence—binge-watching, retail numbing, malicious gossiping and low culture subscriptions. The more clutter I amassed—invisible imprints on my mind and soul and physical rubbish—the more extraordinary I felt. It never dawned on me that I was content living vicariously through others’ lives, feeling a false sense of importance. The comfort of watching and cheering (and anonymously disfiguring) had hardwired me to hide my inadequacies under denial. I failed to question: “Why didn’t anyone cheer for me?”
If at all a lightning thought reminded me of my passivity and pretentiousness, I immediately convinced myself, “I can’t drift like a gossamer leaf; I can’t fly like an elegant butterfly; I can’t soar like a powerful plane,” the excuses kept rolling, naturally and steadily, helping me drown the fact that my life was an excuse.
Crustaceans—low culture entertainment and varied distasteful consumption—had damaged my brain cells and destroyed my thinking abilities.
Unlike the wood piles, which had beautifully weathered, my mind had reduced to crumbling decay; I had become that small person in a quote attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt: “Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss people.”
Strangely, the weathered pier stumps that were my comfort zone had become the educators that would set me free. Eventually, noticing piling wraps protecting marine piles, I decided that I too had to secure my mind—cocooning it with nutritional content—in what I saw, heard, smelt, ate and touched, and how I moved, interacted and conversed.
For days on end, I wrestled with my crippling fear, eventually gifting myself curiosity and freeness. And much to my delight, I took a leap of faith—I took flight with all my might. Now, I hum along with bees, dance with the wind and swerve with the planes. I am finally free to feel the fragrances of spring, the lushness of summer, the kaleidoscope of autumn, and the starkness of winter.
I have learned invaluable lessons by actively steering towards material that leads me to self-reflection. First, we might be unable to fly at the same altitude as others, but we can always soar to our best capacity. Second, it’s essential to travel alone and access those parts of yourself and the world that will make you grow. As we periodically reexamine our lives, we become increasingly empowered, zoning out sloth spectatorship, instead zoning in to be the applause of our story.
From time to time, I circle and return to the pier stump as a reminder of how far I have come, constantly crediting my effort to transform my life from being in a pickle to participating in life with relish.
