Ah, the privileges of middle age. On Monday, I did absolutely nothing except relax around my own homestead. I broke out my Kelsyus Portable Hammock, set it up on the front porch, and snoozed the afternoon away. (In an earlier post, I referred to the water treatment smells, but they were easily surpressed with some candles and incense). When I wasn't napping, one of my eyes was locked on a book and the other was surveying the block.
Youth has its own privileges and pace that I enjoyed, but do not now long for. I'm sure that old age, should I be fortunate to reach it, will have its own set of pleasures and wonders, which I do not now crave.
There is a deep satisfaction for me when I lull off half-conscious and then fall into a nap, when I read a book between micro-siestas, and when I merely recline, soaking up moments that I once would have considered long and boring. Dozes are not the "disco-naps" of my youth that merely served as instruments to increase stamina for late nights. My present naps are unassuming and intrinsically good. "Simple pleasure" is perhaps a cliche, but it fits exactly the perfect rest and contentment of being at home.
If that's middle age, it works for me. And being on my porch does, too.