It is indeed just a lamp post. Above it, the December sun warms me. Whatever I’m experiencing is almost the opposite of mindfulness. I clocked out at work to walk down the hill to my car. Minutes later, I realized I was walking south on the trail. My feet must have vetoed my routine because I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I was briskly walking, listening to the creek adjacent to the trail, and lost in my thoughts. Before finishing work for the day, I had two disparate moments. The first was a surprise bit of irritation thrown upon me, an undeserved one, from someone responding to words of kindness and appreciation I had offered. Momentarily, my head filled with confusion and disappointment. The second moment was a laughter-filled conversation. When I realized I was walking on the trail, I looked up to see that lamp post illuminated by the bright sun. A congruent and companion light went off in my head. Which of the two disparate moments before leaving work do you think filled my heart? All moments can have meaning, especially if we are intuitive or paying attention. At the apex of my unintended walk, I sat on a ledge overlooking the creek below. The sun sits to the right above me warming my shoulders, even though the rest of me sits in shadows provided by a huge tree. The concrete blocks below me are cool and refreshing. The creek runs swiftly enough to babble its own language. Strangely, I feel like I know what it’s saying: flow, movement, and destination. All that kinetic energy around the low water bridge and walkway that traverses the creek. On one side, a tranquil pool that hides motion. On the other, a boisterous discharge of water trying to find its place. I know I will have to get up and walk back to my car. I think I will keep the sound of the creek in my head for a while and feel the warmth of the sun on my shoulders. I choose to remember the laughter and to forget the irritation. This walk was a stolen moment.
She set the timer for six hours, trusting that technology would rescue her from laziness the next morning.
Her entire life, she lived, expecting tomorrow to be better.
Today, as her head filled with hope and optimism, she had decided to ask the universe for a dual-citizenship: one homeland being her past, the other being her future.
If she jettisoned her past without appreciating the lessons, she knew she would never be happy.
A friend of hers had confessed that he woke up one morning to hear a bell in his head, one that revealed that he could succeed after twenty years of failure.
“Just like that?” she asked him.
He nodded. The way he nodded conveyed the truth of his acknowledgment.
For days, the idea of an awakening had plagued her. She silently begged the universe for such a revelation.
As she sat in traffic, waiting for the interminable light to change, she realized that her life was stuck in traffic. Though she didn’t hear a bell, the simplicity of the movement she needed became clear to her.
She came home and moved through the quotidian chores that fill people’s lives. The rituals needed to complete her evening passed without notice. She was on autopilot. For years.
Until she brushed her teeth. As she looked in the mirror, it hit her. She was the author of her own destiny.
Tomorrowland was hers.
She couldn’t wait to surprise the world with her revelation.
“Life is like looking for your phone. Most of the time, it’s in your hand.”
Today’s brooch was made from a very old badge my manager discovered last week. I wrote “252” on it. That’s how much I weighed in the picture. I’m 105 lbs. lighter now. The part that continues to remind me is the new people who come into my life. They didn’t know me as fat. A couple of them had to be convinced. That’s a strange, wonderful thought. None of them have inaccurate misconceptions of me, either, so they look at me as if I’m just X. That’s wonderful, too. It reminds me of decades ago when I changed my name; it allowed me to easily identify those who loved me for who I was without regard to my name. Not a day passes that my name doesn’t bring a question, a laugh, or a story. Having a ridiculous name saves me the trouble of needing to tell people I’m probably eccentric. (Whether I look like a professional bowler or curler is up to you to decide.) * ^
“I keep fighting voices in my mind that say I’m not enough Every single lie that tells me I will never measure up Am I more than just the sum of every high and every low Remind me once again just who I am because I need to know” “You Say,” Lauren Daigle
All of you who can feel God’s love are fortunate. I mean that without snark. All love is housed in one’s heart. Believing that you’re loved in any form is something to strive for.
* ^
Because of my blog, people find me and read the ridiculously long and circuitous path of my life I’ve left there. It’s told higgledy-piggledy, with huge omissions and P.S.-sidepaths; it’s just the way I like it. It is both consoling and astonishing when someone discovers it and finds something worthwhile in it or me. When you commit things to writing and especially publicly, there is no return to privacy or withdrawal. It’s both faith and lunacy. As direct as I’ve been, there are hundreds of stories that I haven’t shared, mostly because of the overlap in other people’s lives. A lot of my joy and anguish are difficult to share for that reason. It’s not that I don’t want to. I’d prefer to spill it out. I can’t imagine that I’ve experienced much that a lot of other people haven’t – that’s the joy of peeking behind curtains in life. * ^
“State your truth” is such a vulnerable thing to do. Or say. I’ve become so open about it that I’ve forgotten that people need camouflage. We are all so similar in our vexations and pleasures. Knowing this at 54 is almost a superpower. But I do revel when I am able to witness someone letting the wall down and just sharing, even if it astonishes them as they do so. Sunlight and revelation bring peace. So many people are carrying secrets or thoughts of a different way to live. They don’t see the options until they see no way to continue.
“Buried emotions are always buried alive,” someone smart told me once. * ^
“Some people are empaths. I’m a telepath; people want me as far from them as possible.” – X * ^
“Hey X, do you smoke marijuana?”
“No, I prefer the natural flavor.”
That one took him a minute to understand. * ^
I think I’ll forego a regular walk or run today and see if I can run 100 floors of stairs. That seems fair, doesn’t it? My heartbeat objects. Maybe it knows the inventory of my allotted steps in life? Either way, my heart owes me a debt for liberating it from the sheath of excess that I put on it for two decades. And I owe it an apology. I’m lucky I didn’t give up, even as I constantly failed. Until I didn’t. It’s not the path that matters so much; it’s where you end up. * ^ To a specific friend, if you read this post, a phlebotomist I met at my doctor’s appointment LOVED your catchphrase: “Nothing tastes as good as this feels.” His eyes went wide and then he laughed. “Exactly!” he said. “I’m going to steal that without question. It’s perfect.” He’s a bodyweight fitness nut and looks like a flattened barrel in his upper torso. He wanted to know my story and secrets – and I shared both your phrase and The Blue Dress Project’s catchphrase, “Choose Your Hard.” He couldn’t believe my transformation and I told him that between the bell going off in my head and seeing people like you do it with a lot more obstacles than me, that I knew I was supposed to succeed. He understood, having done it himself. Don’t be surprised if it ends up on social media. * ^ The man who taught me one-on-one how to end an altercation quickly (and violently, if necessary) recommended a browser-based productivity timer. It works crazily well. I can set it for 5-minute increments. When the alarm of my choosing sounds, it’s time to do another interval of weights and/or stairs. Because I do most of my writing sitting at the computer, it’s a great way to create thoughtless and repetitive chunks of exercise. Because of the law of increments, I can artificially get a lot of movement each hour instead of relying on my motivation. The cat hates it though, especially if he’s perched on my lap as I type. * ^ The Lexapro is working very well. So is therapy. And time passing. As the curtains of other people’s lives continue to open to me, I realize that my problems are real – but inconsequential compared to the complexities that other people are living. It’s great that some parts of my life are a motivation to people. It’s also okay that some parts should serve as a warning. None of us are pristine or untouched by trauma, loss, indecision, doubt, or wanting. * ^ My “Ask” project is working well for me. It’s failed consistently, but that failure is changing me. I can feel it and observe it as it works its way into my nature. Some of the ongoing “No” has hurt me in a way that surprised and upset me. But I’ve kept asking, feeling the wave of “No” click a meter in my head. I don’t know where the true fulcrum of some of it lies; I’ll trust my instincts when it does. Once the meter has run to zero, we have to accept the truth of whatever we’ve been asking.
Ask Ask for what you want or desire. If you don’t, it is a certainty you’ll never get it. Ask of life and ask of people. The answer, though bitter or not what you sought… It’s at least the truth. Everything starts from there Ask * ^ I walk past the place where the deceased are kept until they are retrieved for their funerals and remembrance. I walk past a lot. I’m surrounded during the day. By love, concern, fear, hundreds of individual stories unfold. How odd it is that such finality and drama barely pierces people’s consciousness. I know we have to protect ourselves or otherwise be flooded. Sometimes, though, we need to remember the hourglass sifting sand invisibly behind us. It’s a valuable motivator to know that your day is not a promise. It’s a gift, one which many of us waste on triviality. * ^ Somewhere In Time
I had another life, a Lowenstein of my own. She walks the planet, fulfilled, and not alone. The lesson is that everyone has a tightly drawn curtain. When they fling it open, there is beauty and assertion. To see someone from within their own head is a joy. It’s agony when the curtain closes again, a closure that can destroy. Every nuance and experience in life will change us, if not derange us. There is no return to the before. There is only the after and absence, paired with infinite reenactments. Time does not cure us; it erodes us. To know that somewhere in time, that your life did not branch away from you, is a breathtaking comfort and inner chime.
He heard her laugh from a couple of aisles over. He was about to place his six simple items on the belt by the cashier. He pushed his cart to the side when she laughed again and abandoned it. Whoever owned that laugh was someone he had to see. The hair on the back of his neck felt like an unseen hand had artfully brushed against it.
He kept looking for the person that laugh belonged to but couldn’t seem to pinpoint it. Then, he glimpsed her standing next to the spices and glancing up at the cinnamon placed unnecessarily and rudely high on the shelf, with one earbud in. It had to be her; the only other women in the vicinity were already collecting their pensions.
She was nodding to nobody as a smile cracked across her face under her mask.
Then another laugh.
Though he would not usually approach anyone, he felt his feet glide toward her. Though he had no expectations as to what she might look like, he felt an unfamiliar sense of familiarity when he looked at her. Just as he was about to speak, she turned halfway toward him, her eyes sparkling, the fading laugh leaving her eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but felt his throat clamp. He just nodded in silence.
She pulled her mask down to reveal a smile. “Well, hello there, stranger.” The ‘hello’ he warmly and hesitantly uttered crept its way across his lips as they moved, creasing the corners of his eyes.
“Could you help me get the cinnamon? I’m trying to make the family cookie recipe for the Christmas celebration. I was warned not to get the cheap stuff,” she said, rambling to herself. He watched her face move with the words as his feet shot roots into the ground beneath him to keep his heart from soaring out of his chest.
He kept staring until she looked from side to side behind him and then back in his face. “umm…Frankie? Can you get the cinnamon, please? I still have to bake tonight.” He kept staring. There she was. His heart was beating rapidly; there was sweat on his brow. The clerk announced BBQ and 4th of July deals over the loudspeaker. He blinked and inhaled hard, and then she was gone again.
Between heartbeats, time dilated. Frankie watched his arm reach up and pick out a lovely brand of cinnamon. When he handed it to her, her nimble fingers brushed his. The jolt awakened him. She smiled and asked, “Are you okay?” He nodded. “Wait,” he said, his voice almost disembodied. “Do I know you? I feel like I do.” She laughed at him as if he’d asked the most ridiculous and amusing question possible. “Not really, no. But I think we’re going to know each other very well, depending on whether you can answer one simple question.”
Frankie nodded and swallowed as Amelia grinned mischievously and pulled out her earbuds. This was a big test. He didn’t even know it yet. There was only one acceptable answer, but a close second would allow him to have an opportunity to prove himself further. “Which Star Trek captain is the best?” she asked as she slipped the cinnamon into a place of prestige in her shopping cart. “Thank you, by the way.”
Frankie didn’t even pause to answer: “Picard. He’s brilliant, ethical, and emotional, perfectly blended. But you know that. If I can make you laugh before you turn and walk away, will you let me talk to you again? Anywhere or anywhen you want.”
Amelia wrinkled her nose, made a noise like a buzzer, and made a thumbs-down signal. She then laughed again. Frankie’s spine shivered again. “That is not correct, so I’m not sure about any sort of prize here.” The room seemed to pulse and fade in and out of Frankie’s vision as the Christmas music faded to summer-time special promotions again. He stood there, alone, in the spice aisle in his Birkenstocks. “Oh God, not again,” he thought to himself and choked back the tears creeping dangerously close to slipping from his eyes in the middle of the spices.
He was lost somewhere in time again, the memories of lost love flooding him. He picked out a container of cinnamon and held it in his hand. Even though people passed him, no one noted the single tear that slid along his cheek and down to his hand holding the bottle. “Amelia,” he whispered.
Cade sat immobile at the computer. On the floor next to him was Junebug, his temperamental cocker spaniel, lazily looking up at him. For a couple of minutes, he stared at the picture he found of her, the woman he once loved. He wasn’t sure if it was serendipity or cursed look to see her face looking back at him. He’d inadvertently scrolled across the internet, looking for an inspiration for a story. He held his breath for quite a while, looking until he realized he wasn’t inhaling and that his stomach had tightened into a ball. A story indeed unfolded in his head, but it was one culled from his own hidden biography. The pages of that book of memory were salt-filled from desiccated tears.
Her hair was different, unkempt, and carefree. He hadn’t seen her for three years, seven months, and ten days, not that he was counting the intervening eternity since they posed for a picture. Before he left her that day, she asked for a picture. Cade excitedly agreed. They stood in front of the house, leaning against the swing, as Cade fumbled with the phone. Both of them were smiling broadly in that photo, their faces flushed with emotion and happiness. If someone had said, “Hold her tight, this is the last time you’ll ever see her again,” he would have either laughed or burst into tears. He might have also never left her, no matter what the cost.
Soon after, for reasons that were both explained and inscrutable, she jettisoned him from her life. The hole was a living void, one which he carried with him into unexpected places. It felt like an unseen and irritating tag on his jeans; he often thought little of it despite feeling the void just below his attention. Her absence brought such pain that he had to will himself to turn his mind elsewhere. So many things in her brought out the best of him, even as it devolved him into slivers of an individual. Knowing her taught him how addicts could chase the first high. To Cade, he compared it to eating a handful of the most delicious walnuts ever grown, only to find each one thereafter to be bitter and nutless. He would still chew a bathtub full of them, in hopes of finding that nugget of timelessness again.
Even after, as much as he realized how brazenly he’d acted, he wished her well. It’s hard to hate someone who opened a new portal inside of you, whether the portal was love or of an infatuation that defied parameters. The agony of knowing that someone chose another path or person instead of you is one of the most inconsolable bittersweet emotions in life. Because love is intensely personal, it’s impossible to express to another that you are truly at their mercy and capable of redefining whatever definition of love holds true. They’ve rejected the most authentic love they could have ever known; because of rejection, they’d never know. They’d careen off, in search of a more suitable you.
Cade powered off his computer and sat in darkness for a minute. His heart slowed and her presence slowly evaporated from him. He got up to make a cup of coffee. Life would go on. The sparkler of her remembered presence would continue, too. It was a part of him now and forever, wherever she might be. He thought of “The Prince of Tides,” and smiled. He didn’t cross a bridge as he whispered it; his feet carried him across the house to a cup of coffee. He imagined he could hear the river somewhere nearby, though, and the marshy smell of the water. He imagined the luxury of living two disparate lives. Junebug nuzzled his leg as he walked.
Out there in the world, she lived her life. And Cade was happy for her. .
One of my favorite things was my Die Hard ventilation shaft Xmas ornament, one I made. It even had a hole in the back of the fake ‘shaft’ to illuminate John McClane’s outstretched lighter as he crawled through. Because one of my neighbors is a Die Hard fan, I walked over and gave it to him. His face lit up. Even more in the Christmas spirit, as much as he was surprised and happy, he said, “Oh man, my mom LOVES Bruce Willis.” Without hesitation, I said, “Give it to her then and pay it forward. We can’t stand between Bruce Willis and your mom’s infatuation.” My neighbor’s son celebrated his first birthday yesterday. I’d already given him the decorated and painted ornamental box I made, for when his son is old enough to put his special things inside. I love imagining some future day when someone sees something I made and thinks about the randomness of strangers. And I think all the time about much I misjudged those neighbors when I was first around them. I like to be surprised and reminded that appearances can be so deceiving.
In my personal life, I am struggling so hard with another variant of “Choose your hard.” I’m stuck at the nexus of a decision that it is intolerably emotional. My therapist told me once to imagine that if I had died instead of surviving my emergency surgery. And from that vantage point, how hard would such a decision seem from there? She’s right. Have you heard this saying: “If you’re okay with something you shouldn’t be okay with, you’re not okay.” Experience tells me that it’s true but wisdom tells me that I’m weak. Such self-knowledge is not something that warms me.
Yesterday, I gave everything I had to try to run a mile in under six minutes. I didn’t quite make it; I missed by six seconds. Though I failed and for the last half of the mile I was sure I was going to make it, I look at six seconds and know it’s a stupidly small amount. P.S. My heart was trip hammering so hard I could s-e-e it beating through my shirt like a drum.
One of the advantages of living upstairs is well… the stairs. Between sets of exercises, I can go out and do ten floors at a time. It doesn’t take any time at all to accumulate a LOT of floors and stairs. I like to watch the law of increments add up. My goal is to do at least 50 flights of stairs by 9 a.m.
One of my favorite people recently compared me to another person and described us both as obsessive-compulsive about goals. She’s not wrong at all. This Fitbit accentuates it because I can see it in real-time.
Do y’all know what “you by default” means? It’s used by some interviewers now and it helps you figure out where not only you are in your journey, but also to measure other people in your life.
You By Default
A lot of people haven’t heard this line of thinking regarding behavior, usually involving exercise and sometimes healthier eating. It was powerful the first time it was explained to me by someone who walks the walk.
If exercise takes a lot of effort – or adds procrastination or stress to your routine – it’s not you by default. It’s something you’re doing rather than what you simply do. If you miss a day or several, it isn’t important in the scheme of things. You’ll go back naturally to it and without stressing that you might not ever return. All of us have weird and surprising enthusiasm and commitment cycles in every aspect of our life. Exercise. Diet. Love. Irritability. Dark chocolate.
If you need willpower and constant self-talk to avoid eating chips at 10 p.m. or fast food twice a day, it’s not you by default.
“You by default” becomes your natural process, one that doesn’t require a lot of cognition or secondary support to maintain. You’re active because you are an active person. You eat healthier because you are a healthier eater. You behave kindly, well, because you ARE kind. You’ve internalized natural or learned behaviors. It is possible.
You show love and lovingkindness because it’s “you by default.”
Find a way to become whatever goal or attribute you want in your life. It’s now a part of you, never to be stripped away or requiring intangible willpower. It is a type of discipline turned to automatic.
Whatever it is that you want to do or become, practice. Even if you don’t know the vocabulary to describe it. If you can overcome the natural reluctance slope that allows new behavior to become permanent, you will find that you can do this in other areas of your life, too. You will have shifted your default.
It’s also interesting from an interpersonal point of view. If people haven’t shifted their internal values, their behavior isn’t their default. They’ll revert almost every time and abandon their attempts to change. It’s not impossible, but it is a rarity.
Odd that we expect life to be linear, one foot in front of the other, with a clear view of how to live our lives. Everything is circuitous, convoluted, and seen imperfectly.
With goals, we forget that one day or three doesn’t derail us or our commitment.
Science teaches us that we all fight a reluctance curve with results.
Wisdom teaches us to be patient with the ridiculous setbacks we’re all going to encounter.
You can drive around the roundabout 247 times if you need to.
It’s the final turn, the one that gets you where you need to be, that matters. Our path and past are still a part of our story, but it is where we end up that gives us our measure.
I’m a terrible runner with a lot of enthusiasm. Before my surgery, I ran 5 miles non-stop just to see if I could do it. I did survive. At least I think I did. A 6-minute mile is considered a benchmark for fast recreational runners. There’s no way I am going to succeed. BUT… this morning I am going to give it literally everything I’ve got and see how to close to six minutes I can get. It’s not the smartest goal.
This is one of a dozen or so parts of my “reset” from a few weeks ago.
I’m not a fan of Kohls at all. But twice this year, I’ve found deals that were amazing. Yesterday, I found my first pair of performance shoes. After all the byzantine discounts, they cost $25. I kept using the excuse of quality shoes as a reason to put off my first 6-minute attempt.
As yesterday, lightning and rain aside, everything is an easy excuse.
If my friend can run a marathon at 62 and run 18 miles on his first day of training, maybe my self-challenge doesn’t seem so impossible. It’s the attempt that is important to me. Time is short and I can’t count on tomorrow to be there for me if I procrastinate further. Even if I fail, I’ll probably always remember the cold December morning before Xmas that I gave it my all.
So, today is the day. My Fitbit probably needs a defibrillator function as my heart rate climbs. If you see me lying on the trail, just walk past. Think of it as performance art!
I will survive.
Either way, this is going to be interesting.
Every race in life is really against oneself.
Love, X
P.S. My Jesus/Zach Galifianakis picture pretty much says it all. .
I don’t know if this tip will help any of you, but surprisingly, it’s worked exceptionally well for me. When I was learning how to deescalate a fight and/or end it violently and quickly, the trainer told me of a trick he recommends to some clients if they work out at home and need to “crunch” their time and focus. Everyone gets distracted. Food. Pets. Kids. As Seen on TV commercials.
I laughed when the trainer told me because it echoes what I tend to do before sleep. Most nights, I put the song “Save Your Tears” by The Weeknd on a one-hour repeat on my Alexa. Not that anyone asked, but I discovered that I’ve also developed the habit of putting my teddy bear laterally across my stomach and surgery scar. It took me several nights of falling asleep that way to REALIZE I was doing it. I’ve done it so many times now that my subconscious is etched by the groove of the song. It’s rare that it doesn’t push me over the edge into dreamland. I fully expect to hear the song in the car one day and then find myself upside down in a holler somewhere, after an impromptu nap on the highway.
The trick he told me is to find a motivational song and put it on repeat whenever I want to crunch my time and do my sets with shorter rest intervals – without getting distracted by the million things to do. Since I’m a Rocky fan, I chose a remix of “Rocky Going The FN Distance Construct Remix.” If the song is still playing, it prompts and reminds me to stay moving and focused on the intervals instead of lolly-gagging and letting time stretch and get away from me. I used Audacity on my computer to truncate the ending unnaturally; the sudden ending always triggers me to recognize that I’m supposed to be focused. And then the song starts again.
It works for me. Years ago, when I was in 9th grade and started running, “Rocky” ran in my head a lot. It’s silly, of course. Now, if I feel myself fading as I run, I put the same remix on and find myself sailing.
I wish life had that same sort of soundtrack to kick us in the ass and keep us on point for our goals and betterment.
I know this can’t go on forever, this radiant burn and energy.
Can you see it in my eyes from the picture?
I’ve earned the wrinkles and the scars. I’ve earned the smile today, too.
I’m sitting here with the door wide open, enjoying a warm December afternoon. Güino, my tuxedo cat, prowls the landing outside, awaiting another squirrel’s visit. I watched a few divebomb the bird feeders outside today, collecting pecans, peanuts, and even suet from the songbird’s offering plate. It’s cloudy outside but such clouds have never brought melancholy; quite the opposite.
When I went outside this early morning and felt the air, I wanted nothing more than to put on my other shoes and take off walking across Northwest Arkansas. Work of course pulled me back to reality. I used the pace of work to draw me into a blurring zone of activity; hallways, concrete, and lots of stairs. Now that I have a Fitbit, I realize that I’m logging 50+ floors each day, which tickles me. I can walk 25,000 steps without giving it a second thought. As my friend Tammy taught me, “Nothing tastes as good as this feels,” the occasional realization that I don’t realize that I’m walking without another hundred pounds of me on my back. It feels like I’m gliding on air a lot of the time. I wish I had done this transformation twenty years ago.
I got to hug Kathy, a coworker of mine who has logged 30+ years there. She’s retiring Friday. I made her a personal canvas with a departing message, one conveying the bittersweet goodbye of her approaching and permanent absence. I didn’t start greeting her warmly or with a hug until a little over a year ago. Covid aside, that’s a shame. Personal connection helps all of us nullify that urge to be ‘professional,’ aloof, or behave in ways that violate our obligation to treat each other as people first and foremost.
Even after work as I wandered Walmart in search of people and stories, I felt like I was radiating an aura of energy. I helped three people while I was there. My biggest reward was saving someone a few hundred dollars on an alternate laptop. I gave the woman my email address and told her to write me if she has any issues with her Chromebook. I wished a few dozen people “Merry Christmas!” as I glided around the aisles. I saw the biggest afro hair I’ve ever seen there. I watched as someone cleverly misused the self-service kiosk to avoid paying for an item. (You get what you make us pay for Walmart.) Another man pulled at least twenty jugs of milk out of the cooler to inspect some unseen quality that only he could see. And I handed the Salvation Army bell ringer her choice of diet or regular soda. Thankfully, she chose regular, leaving me to down the entire bottle of Coke Zero in about two minutes.
If I felt this way every day, I’m not sure it might not be too much. It’s a wondrous feeling while it’s happening. I find myself mourning its eventual loss, though, as ridiculous and odd thing as that might be to say.
My sister wrote me, telling me that she’s still having difficulty, especially now that another round of inevitable physical symptoms creeps up on her. I can’t imagine struggling with addiction and past patterns. The ones I have are enough to keep me dancing; her shadows are longer and deeper than mine. Our pasts overlap and because of that, I understand the complexity.
Meanwhile, I’m going to step outside and take another short walk. I feel like I might be leaving visible energy trails in my footprints. I hope so.
And I hope that some of y’all are feeling exuberant, too, even if you can’t identify the cause. For many of you, it’s Christmas season, when exuberance is supposed to infuse your life like the first observed lightning bug of the summer.
While energy cannot truly be erased, our measure of it is limited by the burning fuse of our lives.
I can FEEL my fuse burning. I know I sound crazy sometimes. But if you can imagine looking up at the sky and sun and thinking to yourself that the same force that powers the universe powers us, it might be more relatable.
What goes up must come down. That’s okay. I’ve captured this day-long feeling of radiance and bottled a bit of it in my memory.
Nothing momentous happened today. And that’s precisely why it felt so precious.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 