What do I think, feel and need?

I ask myself these questions regularly as I want to increase my awareness of my experience, and of myself. 

Today, I feel joyous. Even giddy. It is so much fun to explore new things, even if it’s just a supermarket. I’m in an area that was settled by the Portuguese, and there are the Barcelos of Portugal (the Rooster of Portugal) in odd places – like the window of the Home Hardware, or on the ledge of a restaurant, or painted in a mural. So of course in the supermarket I found sardines, sausages, pasteís de nata and smoked cod along with the usual maple syrup, tinned goods and assorted fruit and veg. 

The town is hopping today. Maybe this is because it’s Sunday or that the marathon is happening just a few blocks north and therefore tying traffic up into knots. Perhaps it’s because the sun is out. 

On the way to the supermarket (all of 125 metres away) I noticed an old man moving slowly along the pavement in soft, knee-high leather boots, dark work pants and a battered hat, his small, white dog walking ahead, the lead dragging along the ground. And he was singing, the man not the dog, in a lovely rich voice. It sounded, to my untrained ear, like an ancient folkloric ballade, but perhaps that was just because of his outfit. I followed him for a block but couldn’t manage to walk his pace without seeming like a stalker, so I crossed the street to the shop, carrying the song and the image with me.

It’s warm again, after a 7-degree morning run earlier in the week. Which reminds me to remind my readers that I have spent the last fourteen years in England so I may give a little more focus than necessary to the weather. Especially as we shift into autumn with its changing foliage, crisp nights and market stalls piled high with peppers, apples and squashes.

I had one of those evenings last night that just reverberated with good conversation, delicious food and contentment. I was invited to dinner chez mes amis, along with their visiting friends and a local cousin. So four people I didn’t know, plus my friends’ madcap dogs. Walking home at midnight, aglow from such an enjoyable time, I was reminded again of the importance of community, its ability to reinforce a sense of well-being, and how the pandemic managed to undermine that sense of belonging. 

Of course, I wake up alone, with a day stretching in front of me that has no planned human interaction. But that’s absolutely fine. I have writing to do, people to phone and food to cook. I enjoyed the unselfconscious singing of an elderly man. I practised my French on the cashier. The sunlight is trickling through the leaves of the trees beyond my balcony. I am content in my solitude.