I sat here at the front window, writing. A whole world blossomed into my head, just based on the character’s name: Mister Margaret. I don’t get writer’s block, but I found myself typing incrementally slower, my mind captured by the wall of insect noise and the filtered sun trying to rest on the horizon. My apartment catches the heat of the day, but it also rewards me with a direct sunset view.
As happens, a melancholy crept up on me. It’s easy to recognize it once it finds its way into my head. I’m sitting here in the cocoon of a new life, in wonder at the myriad ways in which I can experience everything. But change brings uncertainty and doubt.
Am I happy? Am I sad? Optimistic? Hopeful? Uncertain? Yes.
I hate to think I could ever stop saying the hard truths, even if they paint me in an unflattering light.
I’m lucky because I had somebody nearby who could pull me back from disconnectedness. I reached out because I’m not stupid. Loneliness is a debilitating and overwhelming thing. It’s also needless. We marginalize ourselves because we forget that all of us share this aversion to loneliness.
I don’t want anyone ever to think I have all the answers. There are days when I’m not sure I have a grasp of what the questions are.
The sky is darkening now, resigned to the cycle of day and night.
Soon, I’ll do the same.
To each of you reading this, I wonder what your life looks like, whether you’re happy, and if you’re near someone who can hold you in silence. The last year has taught me that no one’s life is an open book and that all of us, hard hearts or soft, need someone to remind us that we’re human.