Found in Adaptation

It is remarkable that we can adapt so quickly. I've been walking pretty much the same route for ten years, and I've gotten to know it well. It takes me up the hill where the pretty houses are; there are a couple of pocket parks and old live oak trees, plum and camphor trees, and lovely drought-tolerant plantings. And various houses have kept chickens I enjoy watching. In addition to the hens I've seen plenty of crows, oak titmice, scrub jays and mourning doves, and several red-tailed hawks, white-tailed kites, and a couple of ravens.

The route has become more trafficked since the shelter-in-place and physical distancing order, and, as I have mentioned before, it means everyone must be on alert to interactions, which makes a once-peaceful walk something of an anxiety for me.

Unless I go a different way. I've started to meander in my own neighborhood. I can cross the street or turn the corner easily when I don't have a route mapped out, set in cement. I get to see more rainbows in the windows and even more chalk drawings. I just try to make sure I walk by Sarah's garden and see what beautiful flower is now in bloom.

This change has made me re-examine the art materials I've got on hand as well. Things I've had for years. Things I've been meaning to use in a project, things that have faded in blurriness are coming into focus. It is possible that for art, we always have plenty; we just have to examine things carefully.

I thought that habit meant my mind was free to think. But at this point I have found that adapting is what I need.