Reflections on a Sunny Afternoon

I am feeling a lot more like myself today. This is most likely down to a delicious afternoon yesterday which reminded me why I love Belfast and my life in general.

After a day spent staring at the computer in my office, willing some sort of draft to magically appear on the screen so I wouldn't have to think of anything intelligent to write, I decided that staying at work until traditional closing time was unnecessary (and completely pointless). It was a beautiful afternoon - one of those really sunny days that dupes you into thinking could wear a breezy skirt and flip-flops if you are just staring out the window, but greets with a soothing chill that makes the air seem clean and crisp when you finally step outside. After my weekend of falling in love with Dublin (a constantly recurring event), I was not in the frame of mind to sit in watching BBC1 and listening to the daily trials and tribulations of my in-laws workplaces.

Max and I had determined to finally go to the beginners' meditation session at the Buddhist centre after weeks of flaking out at the last minute. The Buddhist centre is in the Cathedral Quarter, my favourite part of the city. It is a little area full of side streets and back alleys where vibrant pubs and coffee shops hide in amidst abandoned buildings and back entrances to office blocks. Max thinks it is an exaggeration to even call the area a "quarter" given its size and limited number of venues, but I love it all the same. We made several unsuccessful attempts to get into the Zen centre, but the doors were locked and it seemed that no one was home. Max decided that this was the result of the teacher being intimidated by Max's natural Zen ability, and we resigned ourselves to wandering around the city until we could find something suitable to replace our original plans.

I love the number of daylight hours you get in Spring here. It stays bright until almost 9:30pm some days, making it easy to enjoy post-dinner outdoor activities to your heart's content. In the city centre, everything closes by 6 or 7pm and the entire area becomes a ghost town. I used to hate that, craving the convenience culture to which I had become so accustomed after 23 years of living in the US. But now I love wandering around the empty city in the evening, feeling like you have the streets to yourself. Max and I dandered around aimlessly, him pointing out street signs in a feeble attempt to get me to learn Belfast by street name instead of landmarks so I would be more competent at giving directions, me rambling about the events of the weekend.

Arriving at Botanic Avenue, the student strong-hold of Belfast, the throngs of people bustling about shocked us back to reality. We ended up at our favourite coffee shop, a little non-profit place run by a liberal non-denominational church, and tucked in to two slices of cake each the size of my face.

I love going out for coffee with Max. It is a completely indulgent pastime on my part, given that it usually involves me pontificating about various "meaning of life" themed topics while he listens. There is something about sitting across the table from someone that turns Max into the most attentive listener the world has ever seen. He appears to hang on my every word, furrowing his brow as if to show me that he is deep in thought. Occasionally he will brush my hair away from my face or set his hand on top of mine, bringing me back from whatever academic or philosophical ramble I had let myself get carried away with. I used to worry that he just tuned out during these talks, bored with my prattling on. Now I know that it is just one of the things that makes us good together; my need to talk everything through until I am out of breath complimenting his need to sit back and absorb everything going on around him and mull it over quietly.

But this time Max did a lot more talking. He is excited about the progress happening in our house and getting closer to the moving in date. He imagined out loud the floor to ceiling bookshelves we would have, the bizarre mix of antique and modern furniture we have acquired over the last few years, the cast iron wood stove we bought to heat the kitchen filling the room with the smell of turf. He told me about the articles he has been reading on organic vegetable gardens and we decided to finally put our names down for an allotment near our house so we could grow fresh lettuce and peppers and green beans. We laughed as we imagined our house full of my family as they all fought over who would sleep where, especially after Max told them ghost stories about his favourite room in the house so he could maintain his privacy. We just talked about our life. A good life. The kind of life I always hoped I would have and that is right here in front of me now.

The more I write the less I feel I have a point. What felt like such an incredible day looks rather simple and dull in print. I guess all I was trying to convey is that I realised something important. It's so easy to feel sorry for myself, to crawl inside some hole of self-doubt and think about the things I have never had, the things I have lost, the person I thought I was supposed to be. But when I actually think about everything here in front of me - a city I am starting to love, friends who make me laugh even when I am miserable, a partner who is attentive and supportive (I could go on, I really could) - it just becomes too ridiculous to be unhappy.