It’s 5:30 in the afternoon. I worked a full day, stayed after school to help a few struggling students, and then spent an hour sitting in the car on the phone with my therapist.
Now I’m home. I’ve changed into my leggings and one of my favorite, soft, baggy shirts. The text on the front reads, “Kindness Matters.” I’ve got a third of my afternoon Dunkin Donuts coffee left in this plastic cup by my side, and the steak I just sliced for dinner needs to marinate for 30 minutes.
So I can write. Or I suppose I could read. But I need one or the other. Because words are the thing that can best soothe my soul.
It all feels a little bit overwhelming right now. You can tell because I haven’t posted anything in a while.
What’s new? Absolutely nothing. And everything. Isn’t that the way it always is? I live the same day; variations on a theme. I feel trapped. I liberate myself. Things get better. Then worse.
I get terrible news. Followed by an inspiring email. The sun shines. The sleet falls. Such is spring in New England.
I don’t have any insight today. I just have so many damned feelings. I’m overflowing with them. Fear. Regret. Joy. Peace. Frustration. Contentment. In waves, they just keep coming. They tug me under. Throw me against the rocks. Bring me to shore.
All I can do is roll with them. Try to feel them instead of analyzing them. Try to be in the moment instead of above it all.
My shirt is soft. My drink is sweet. My dog is snoring at my feet. The wind is blowing outside.
I tell myself to stay here. To stop following that voice in my head that wants to ruminate or anticipate.
Notice it all. Stay in the moment. My house is warm. My fridge is full. The wind is blowing and the sun is shining.
There is nothing to fear in this moment. Why do I find it so hard to just stay here?