Life's been really busy lately.
Everybody says that. Including me. My tendency is to make the merry-go-round go faster and faster until I can't see straight and everything looks like a blur. When I was little, I only liked going on merry-go-rounds if the person promised to spin slowly. I've been trying to listen though, because I believe that life is poetry, but poetry isn't loud or invasive. Poetry is a quiet whisper that we can only hear when we slow down and listen for the breeze.
Recently, I've been feeling really empowered. Really strong. I wake up ready to face the day. I am not sure where this attitude came from, other than receiving a lovely compliment on Friday and the spring hinting at being somewhere close. I've been riding this wave, enjoying how strong I feel, how much I can get done.
Tonight I spent the evening with Caleb. When it was time to go home, I found myself inexplicably frustrated - at the time, at the fact that I had to go home (as I'd much rather just stay with Caleb), at the fact that I didn't bring my coat inside and I knew it would be cold out. My coat. It was the tipping point.
I got in the car and ate a bar of chocolate Caleb had shared with me. With my coat on. "What just happened?" I asked myself. "Why did not having your coat make you feel that way? Get it together. You're strong, remember?"
The anxiety surged. I think if anxiety could make noises, it would sound like if you magnified the sound of termites eating away at the strong wood "Numnimnemnumnem".
"What's your deal?" I said to the anxiety, this time a little less nicely. "Get out of here."
I remembered being quiet and how sometimes poetry is found in the most unlikely places. I stopped feeling sour at myself and tried a new question for the feelings inside. "I feel you. I see you. What do you need from me?"
In that moment, the anxiety ceased to make that termite feeling/sound. It was like it stepped out from behind the mask and said, "Thanks. I just needed to be seen."
We drove home, listening to the classical music they play sometimes at night on the radio.
Everybody says that. Including me. My tendency is to make the merry-go-round go faster and faster until I can't see straight and everything looks like a blur. When I was little, I only liked going on merry-go-rounds if the person promised to spin slowly. I've been trying to listen though, because I believe that life is poetry, but poetry isn't loud or invasive. Poetry is a quiet whisper that we can only hear when we slow down and listen for the breeze.
Recently, I've been feeling really empowered. Really strong. I wake up ready to face the day. I am not sure where this attitude came from, other than receiving a lovely compliment on Friday and the spring hinting at being somewhere close. I've been riding this wave, enjoying how strong I feel, how much I can get done.
Tonight I spent the evening with Caleb. When it was time to go home, I found myself inexplicably frustrated - at the time, at the fact that I had to go home (as I'd much rather just stay with Caleb), at the fact that I didn't bring my coat inside and I knew it would be cold out. My coat. It was the tipping point.
I got in the car and ate a bar of chocolate Caleb had shared with me. With my coat on. "What just happened?" I asked myself. "Why did not having your coat make you feel that way? Get it together. You're strong, remember?"
The anxiety surged. I think if anxiety could make noises, it would sound like if you magnified the sound of termites eating away at the strong wood "Numnimnemnumnem".
"What's your deal?" I said to the anxiety, this time a little less nicely. "Get out of here."
I remembered being quiet and how sometimes poetry is found in the most unlikely places. I stopped feeling sour at myself and tried a new question for the feelings inside. "I feel you. I see you. What do you need from me?"
In that moment, the anxiety ceased to make that termite feeling/sound. It was like it stepped out from behind the mask and said, "Thanks. I just needed to be seen."
We drove home, listening to the classical music they play sometimes at night on the radio.
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