Sunday, June 11, 2017


Before we begin, I would like to cultivate the right frame of mind for this post. It's hot tonight, still 30 degrees out at 8:30 p.m., so you might feel weary, but happy the weather is turning. I am. Put this song on, close your eyes. Sigh. Tilt your spine back and recline, feet up.

I have not been writing as much. I have not been doing yoga or meditating. I haven't poured myself into a good book in awhile. I have been doing many other things, so many other things, that it sometimes feels overwhelming to even think of fitting in time for the things that soothe me. If my life were another alternative-90s song, it would be something by Prodigy with a relentless, fast beat and an imperative sense of being pushed forward in time. I know, conceptually, that a runaway train will one day crash. I don't want to crash. But I'm not always sure how to slow the momentum enough to at least notice the scenery as I zoom past.

I am running early in the morning or late at night. I am taking the girls to soccer. I am swimming in the backyard when it's hot out. I am making easy dinners when it is too much for me to prepare something harder. I am working two, sometimes three side jobs. I am trying to find the best barbecue sauce recipe. I am adding up the green and red columns in the budget and trying to make them meet closer to the middle. I am cleaning newly pierced ears and remembering to administer medicine to girls with blocked up ear canals. I am running on fumes sometimes, so when I see a fraction of time, a sliver of a moment I take it.

I close my eyes, breathe deep, and feel it. Feel the rush of everything around me pass me by for this quiet moment. Like surf rushing over my head because I am already submerged in its force. I listen to a song like Porcelain and let go. Let go of expectations, aspirations, things to remember, things to get right, places to be, and just breathe. Just feel it. Feel the chaotic calamity confetti slowly fall to the floor, for this moment. Remind myself that it will all still be there when I get up, so for now, I can just sit. Rest. Remember what it is like to be weightless. Floating above my body and out of my head where I can see how worn down my gears are getting. I take care of that place in myself that probably looks like an over-caffeinated cartoon cat who has just been startled and is hanging from the ceiling by its nails. 

Steven, the gypsy moth caterpillar
Summer is coming. I have dreams of what this means and stop myself before I chase another list of things to do. I dream of slow, unscheduled time where we live by the weather and sun's height rather than the clock on the wall.

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