Category: Self Discovery

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Binding Down

Like someone reached down and grabbed me by my roots

Left a dirt trail behind them

Crumbles that were the massive endeavor of an open heart

The type of growing pains you can see and feel

Like bones breaking in transformation 

A full moon nightmare

Resisting the urge to cave back in

I know I came here for a reason

I know I’m getting taller despite

the shrinking feeling in my chest

Heart chocking on its own beating

Throat suffocating its own voice

Lungs stifling their own breath 

This is not self inflicted 

This is giving

This is painted the color of blame

This is trying

This is the gift of good faith

A thankless achievement 

Soaring up to the sun 

Returning only blistered and blinded

And unsure if I can heal in time

to remember what it felt like to fly into the light

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Trust Your Gut and Break Up Like a Grown up

I was admittedly always unsure of what my gut was telling me. I wasn’t sure I even knew what a gut feeling felt like, much less whether I listened to it or not. People would talk about it and I would nod in agreement as if I knew. They’d say things like – What is your gut telling you? Go with your gut feeling. Trust your gut. Your gut is always right. I knew what they meant, but I always wondered, how do you know whether a feeling is in fact a gut feeling and how do you follow it? It’s the thing that tells you this new friend is probably gossiping about you too or it’s time to leave your job or your sister needs you right now or your partner is cheating on you. The feeling is always there, from little everyday decisions to life changing events. When we listen to it, it can save us from getting stuck in a shitload of traffic or devastating heartbreak. But we have to listen. And we have to trust. 

Me and my gut just had a hell of a rendezvous. 

The feeling started early, nearly right away. It told me something about the woman I was dating.  It started sometime around when she told me she was wasn’t going to date other people and she didn’t want me to either. This was about week 2. After a couple conversations about the topic I had decided to stop dating other people and eventually took my profile off Hinge. It was my decision. I made it my decision so that I could feel good about it. I didn’t have a HUGE desire to go on other dates and I was excited about where things could go with her. During this time my gut was telling me, you’re not ready for that, it’s too soon and she should respect that. But I convinced myself it was okay. I was excited about her so what’s the harm in focusing on just this one relationship? 

That was just the start. The moments kept coming. The feeling in my gut kept appearing. Sometimes it seemed to be brought on by no reason at all. I’d be doing the dishes and listening to a story about her kids or we’d be cuddling on the couch. I couldn’t quite pinpoint it. It wasn’t one thing that raised a red flag and it’s not to say one thing was to blame or even that she was to blame.  In a big way, we just didn’t align. We didn’t align and I could feel it. But there were more concerning factors as well, things that were unsettling and made me feel uneasy. The feeling in my gut showed up during conversations about past relationships and hearing how she responds to challenges and conflicts that arise in them. Something in the way she spoke and what she said gave a subtle hint at what the future held for us. It was a foreshadowing and it was a feeling that was familiar to me. It was the way I felt in my relationship and marriage with my ex wife. I started to feel the precursor to what would become myself shrinking. Walking on eggshells, tiptoeing around and keeping myself in a neat, tidy box to keep the lion at bay. I remember looking at her at one point in my kitchen while she was telling me something and thinking to myself, she is not safe.  At that moment in my mind I distanced myself from her. I created an invisible barrier. It would come down at times when I’d get lost in the moment, when things felt like magic. Soon as the magic moment was gone, it shot right back up. The magic made me want to forget about the feeling. I wanted the magic to be reality. The magic, the good parts, the right moments were so beautiful I thought this could be it for me. I wanted it to be. I just couldn’t figure out what to do with this nagging, sinking feeling deep down in my gut. 

I ignored the familiar feeling. I mistook my gut feeling for fear. I thought I must be so afraid of any new relationship being like my marriage that I am projecting my fear onto this person. I didn’t want to risk losing something that could potentially be great for fear that it would be potentially wrong. And there were many great things, really great things that I thought I’d never find in a partner. I was so excited about it that I held onto it for dear life. Like it would carry me through any dumpster fire of negativity, blame, avoidance and immaturity my partner might throw at me. The moment when you know someone isn’t right for you can happen at any given time during a relationship. Sometimes it’s caused by something that was said or that happened or sometimes you can’t explain it, it’s just a feeling you have. When you ignore it, chances are if something particular hasn’t happened yet, it will. The longer you’re in it, the stronger other feelings and attachments are allowed to grow around it and then it gets messy.

There was a big aha moment when I knew for sure that my relationship needed to end. I knew that I was no longer falling in love with this woman and there were components that logistically, rationally and fundamentally were so out of balance between us, it would never work long term.   I knew my gut feeling had been telling me this all along and it was right. I knew we needed to talk about it but with the holiday only a few days away I thought it best to wait until afterwards. 

My gut told me this was not my person. It told me this feels familiar and familiar isn’t good. It told me something’s off, something’s not right, something’s unsafe with this person. Why did I have to wait until I had tangible evidence? Why did I have to wait until the proof slapped me in the face? Why did I wait until it was so glaringly and painfully obvious and I felt like total shit? Why did I not trust myself? Why is it so hard to listen to the gut feeling and believe that I could be right? Am I so desperate for connection that I think it’s worth it? Maybe it’s because believing I was right meant the possibility of greatness was gone. I didn’t want to be right.

Trusting your gut sometimes means making hard decisions and sometimes if you put it off, the decision gets made for you. Ending a relationship is a hard thing to do. You still hope that it can be done in a mature and respectful way and there isn’t, in my opinion, any good reason why it can’t be. My relationship ended over text. Something that hasn’t happened to me possibly ever. The woman who claimed (with tears in her eyes) that she was falling in love with me ended our relationship over text, 2 days before Christmas. I imagine she had a gut feeling as well. To make it worse, she blamed me for the break up and for why she couldn’t at the very least call me and do it over the phone. I thought at 35 and 42 ending a relationship maturely was a given. I thought sharing intimate feelings and moments, building a friendship and being vulnerable with someone granted you some type of mutual respect. Is that too much to expect from someone? The way you handle yourself and care for your partners feelings during a break up is just as important as how you do it in the relationship itself. It gives you an opportunity to do the right thing despite things not working out the way you wanted. Have some respect for yourself and the time you invested in it as well as respect for your partner. A breakup deserves a conversation, on the phone if nothing else. If you can’t do that don’t point blame at someone else for your lack of courage, decency and common courtesy. Own it. I don’t need to best friends with everyone I’ve ever been in a relationship with but I’d like to still think well of them. So not only am I mourning the loss of a relationship which is hard even when you know it’s the right thing, I’m also mourning the loss of respect I had for this person. Which feels like a harder pill to swallow, I think at this age especially, we should have learned how to break up. We are grown ups, let’s act like it. 

So, listen to your gut. Listen to it and trust it and believe it because if you don’t, you might just get broken up with over text two days before Christmas. 

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I Don’t Want to Be Strong

I don’t want to be strong. Sometimes, I want to be weak. I want the permission to be weak. I don’t want to handle everything well. Sometimes I want be an emotional basket case. I want the permission to break down. I want to say- this is too much and I in fact cannot handle it. No, I don’t want to handle it. I don’t want it at all. I want to yell and piss and moan and stomp my feet because I got the shit end of the stick. And I don’t want to feel bad about it.

I don’t want to be so fucking strong anymore. Because it is too exhausting. I don’t want to hear “stay strong”, “hang in there”, “you got this”. What if I don’t “got this”? What if I don’t want it? The thing about being strong through mental strife, through trauma and crisis is that if you’re not, what’s the other option? Women are strong through hardship because there isn’t really any other choice. I don’t have the luxury of taking all the time off I need, to not worry about making money, I can’t let medical bills pile up, I can’t save it for another day. I can’t (as a self employed individual) take advantage of paid time off or sick days. I can’t call out. I’m it. If I’m not there, the moneys not there.

I don’t want to work myself to the point of emotional wreckage. I want to say when my body has had enough, when I can no longer take anymore and when I am giving in. I want to admit when I am in pain both emotionally and physically and not feel ashamed or like I am letting someone down. I don’t want to act as if something doesn’t hurt just because a million women have felt it before me. Everyone has a breaking point, but we shouldn’t have to wait to get there to give ourselves time to recover.

I don’t want to be ashamed to say- this scares me, I don’t feel like I’m in my power or I feel like I’ve lost control. There’s this guilt trip around being honest and naked with your authentic feelings. But I’m realizing that I am genuinely afraid to admit when I’m feeling weak. It means I’m vulnerable. It means I’m opening myself up to the possibility of breaking down. And then I might not be able to get myself to work and make it through a 12 hour day. What if, when I let myself get down there, to the bottom of that cave of vulnerability and transparency, what if I can’t get out? And what will everyone think of me when they see that I don’t have it together the way it appears I do?

Isn’t there strength in weakness? Then why is there so much shame in it as well? Why do we have to bottle up our worry, stifle down our nerves, suffocate our anxiety, swallow our tears, and tell everyone we’re okay when we aren’t. I think it’s partly because we know it makes others uncomfortable. People don’t know how to react to honesty. And they probably really don’t want to be the ones who crack your armored exterior. They’re not asking because they want to comfort you, they’re asking because it’s the polite thing to do. But they don’t ultimately want to know and they know that more likely than not, your response will be as polite and generic as the question.

Being strong is EXHAUSTING. It is. The stamina, mental and emotional muscle and control it takes to uphold that strength is an impossible task at times. It sits on our chests and fills up our hands until ache ensues and fatigue takes over. It eats away at the heart of our authentic, pure, truest emotions. So that you’re not only dealing with heavy shit, you’re also dealing with making it look like it’s light as a feather. Which just adds to the weight.

We need to start giving ourselves the permission to be honest. The permission to say exactly how we are feeling. Sitting with our emotions and giving them space to live and breathe isn’t enough. We need say it out loud. We need the permission to be sad, scared, worried, frantic, tired, overwhelmed, overstimulated, over-used, burnt out, cried out. We need the permission to be out of sorts, out of our element, unsure, unsatisfied, unhappy, unfiltered, unamused, unashamed and sometimes weak. And we need to let everyone know.

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A panic attack in the worlds healthiest food store

He started speaking to me

I raised my hand in a gesture that said

No thanks, not today

“Wow, you have a great ass”

I stop and my mouth opens

“Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit”

It came out louder than I expected

angry and urgent

almost desperate

He was close enough to hit

my body jerked forward like I might 

A great ass

Words from a mouth heard through my ears but I felt them 

like a hand on my ass

Strong, gripping, cupping

A rounded palm invasion

He grabbed my ass

A man, a stranger standing next to me grabbed my ass

But no, just words

I walk to my car shaking

I start driving

I think about

the men sitting on front stoops 

whistling at my 8 year old body

uttering words in a 

language I don’t know

as I walked to the corner store to 

buy Now and Laters and Munchos

The guy at a friends party who “tapped” his pool

stick between my legs

out of nowhere and everyone thought it was funny

The men at bars and clubs

casually placing hands on the

small of my back and the sides of my ribs

The men at work who told me

I had great legs and tried greeting me

with a kiss on the cheek

Or waited for me to finish up so 

they could have a word

The ones who holler out car windows as they pass

or beep and make me jump when I’m

just trying to go for a walk

The tyrant I lived with for 3 quarters of my life

who walked around dominating

his way through my childhood

getting off on

the fear he invoked

in all the women in his life

Knowing he could say and do whatever he

wanted and no one 

would do a damn thing about it

The silence

The shaking my head and walking away

The rage and fire that engulfed my body

The silence

The assumption that this is to be expected from men and it is

The learned understanding that this is just how men are

This is just how women are treated

This is just what happens when you walk down the street

in shorts, jeans, sweatpants, a skirt, a dress, a trash bag

When you are 8 and when you are 35

This is normal

This is all you’ve known

No one says it’s wrong

and so the feelings you have

the rage 

humiliation 

violation

anger

fear

have nowhere to go

Nowhere to go

My hands grip the steering wheel 

and I let out a murderous scream

I am driving faster than I should 

It’s raining

I park my car, put my 

mask on and 

walk into Whole Foods

I am frantically searching for items unknown

I suddenly have no idea why I came

I zigzag through leisurely shoppers

It is too big, too loud, too bright

There are too many people and 

I want to tell everyone what

has just happened to me

Because the longer I sit with it 

the more it feels like

my throat is expanding but my airway is getting smaller

My mind racing for what I 

wrote on the list I didn’t bring with me

I am gasping for breath

I let out audible noise as I exhale

I feel condensation building around my nose and mouth

I speak out loud, BREATHE MARIA

Coffee 

I cannot find the kind that I buy

I start to panic

I let out more and louder noises

I have no clue what it sounds like

I just cannot keep quiet for 

fear my body might explode from the inside out

Tears start pooling up in my eyes

I try blinking them away

I cannot breathe

I need to get out of here 

My skin is hot

I can hear my heart beating in my ears

My throat feels tight, swollen, horse, scratchy and burning 

as it remembers the anger that stifled and then erupted

As it remembers the stranger that touched me with words

He put his words on me

He put his words on me

I felt them 

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december

I don’t know if I was ever any good at bringing you comfort

I might be the very last one on the list

But if you make it that far down…

The fight is exhausting

Feel my fingertips on the keyboard

Staying mad is a chore

Sitting on the hardwood floor of uneven boards 

Patchwork from a 100 years of wear and tear

Cold air threatening at my window

Shared melodies

A backdrop of old memories

It’s Christmas 

I do everything for me now

Catch myself wondering what you’d think of this and that

Hard habit to break

Small ways of holding on

Catch myself thinking what if

Catch myself

I catch myself

Missing the feeling of leaving with the only two things that matter

Never looking back on dreary New England

Misty April morning

The invisible season 

I miss the desert

Where everything has been sucked dry

And still thriving 

It’s like I was on a merry go round and didn’t know it

Was everyone else watching

Waiting for the dizzying whirlwind to catch up to me

It caught up to me

Not until I lost my balance

Took a good look around and saw I was right back where I started from

I don’t know if this brings you any comfort 

To know I’m still gathering my footing

I usually catch a glimpse on the highway

And I’m filled with envy and wonder

Where are they going

Do they know how far it will take them

Do they know if they are coming back

Do they have a plan

Do they think this one thing will make things better too

It’s a lot of weight on rotating wheels

Do people you loved ever really leave you

Are you lying if you say so

I don’t think they are supposed to

I don’t think that’s the way

There was adventure and we were naive

Lovesick

Maybe just love

Maybe just sick

Maybe there’s more I was meant to learn 

And I was too deep in it

What is it about tragedy that makes you want to reach 

back into the past and hold onto the ones who left

Perhaps it’s shared misery

Pain is familiar 

It might be the only thing that ties us to one another

More so than love

Stronger than love

Was I ever any good at bringing you comfort

Was I ever any good at loving you

Was I ever any good at doing what wives are supposed to do

Remind me

What are they for

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running

these legs can’t run forever

you need to be happy here

too close to speak about it

the words will scorch your tongue

you live along side it

you love along side it

functioning, seemingly effortlessly

distance gives perspective

darkness grows deeper from further away 

get close and it just devours you

crouching blindly 

not afraid but you’re scaring yourself

you could keep going

drowning yourself in poison

secluding yourself in solitude

nobody knows

    nobody knows

nobody knows

you put yourself here

and the track has run out

you need to be happy here

be happy here

rather be anywhere but here

rather be anyone else

remind yourself

you’re not that little girl anymore

surrounded by mountains in a bedroom

you’re taller now

stand up

you can look over them now

look up

there’s so much more you don’t see yet

open your eyes

those piles are crumbling

burn it down

   burn it down

burn them down

this is what growing looks like

this is what pain looks like

this is what grief looks like when it burrows in your skin

this is what it means to live

this is what hope looks like when it disappears 

this is what trying looks like when you think you’re failing

this is what exhaustion looks like

this is what aging looks like

this is what insomnia looks like

this what trauma looks like when it lives in your blood 

this is what it means to put on a happy face

tell them you’re okay

tell them you’re taking it one day at a time

just don’t tell them you really shouldn’t be left alone

this is what acknowledgment looks like

this is what the bottom looks like from the top 

this is what words in disguise sound like

this is what asking for help feels like

these legs can’t run forever

can they outrun a life put on hold

can they outrun a heartbeat 

can they outrun

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Election Day and the day after and the day after and…

I awoke this morning in blissful ignorance. I didn’t know. How long could I go without knowing? How long could I make this last? I was in a calm, anxiety free state of in-between. And I loved it. I had no texts on my phone which I took as a sign that no-one else knew either. And they were happy too. I imagined this glowy light around everyone as they pulled the covers off from over their heads and stretched out their arms and legs reaching and growing to infinity. I imagined everyone had a perfect cup of coffee, the grounds to water ratio on point, warm enough to sooth your soul but not too hot to scorch your tongue. And the sun, was bright- this I didn’t have to imagine because it was bright. It was warming my wood floors and shining in my eyes and it said, this is a new day.

I awoke to a quiet morning, eerily quiet, yet appeasing. Even my thoughts were quiet. They were tired as well, always running around lately, working on puzzle after puzzle, argument after argument, point after point being made. They’ve been doing overtime, putting in extra hours and realizing that trying to reason with the unreasonable is utterly exhausting and impossible. Constantly pleading, care about me! Care about them! Why don’t you care?!?!? Shouldn’t it be a natural human instinct to care for others? Their muscles are getting stronger but their will is weakening. Today, they were restful. Possibly and most likely without good reason. In truth, they are just resetting. Replenishing. Gearing up for their biggest task yet.

I cannot look at results. Not until it’s over. I cannot begin to feel something unless I know for certain it is the only possible outcome. Only then will I be able to work through the feelings I have. Be it anxiety, panic, fear, heartbreak or relief, it will be extreme and overwhelming. And I just cannot commit to them yet, I cannot allow myself the exposure. I have to be very protective of my energy right now and I have to be strong. I don’t feel numb or as if I am avoiding anything. I feel very present and in control. It’s an odd feeling given the circumstances but I’m grateful for it. I don’t want to say it because I feel like it’s too soon and I don’t want to be disappointed but there is a glimmer, an underlining of shimmer, a light, transparent cloud of delicate, fragile, spider web thin hope.

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february

the question of wether or not we loved each other 

hung like the golden autumn leaves as a backdrop to the deer carcasses on the side of the highway

illuminating doom

i miss you my friend

and I wish we still lived in wonder

i drive by your old house on the way to visit my parents

you don’t live there anymore

someones car is in the driveway

the horseshoe of Ferncroft

i used to drive there in the dark and park at the bend beneath the power lines

i think I’m still that person sometimes

hiding in the night

wishing things were different

will I ever grow up

and like who I am

seems like I’m always recovering

maybe that’s when I’m at my best

every time I drive by

i think of those power lines

how far do they go

if I could travel along them

could I ever get to a better place

where i‘m not trying so hard

i’m always trying

but I think I’m doing it wrong

my efforts falling short

i’d like to be the source that travels in those wires

blank but deafening

only I never seem to get to the right places

maybe you were right

i’ll never be okay

never quite happy enough to be happy

never sad enough either

it’s just that I think I’m living someone else’s life sometimes

and I don’t know what they want from me

all these street signs that raised me

Heard and Blossom

Washington and Clarke

i wonder if the wires will take me

 where I ride my bike around the same block

 where summers felt as long as winter actually is

 where angels watched from a kitchen window

i wonder if I walked into that pond at the end of your street

could I emerge, reborn

stripped of scar tissue and what I remember 

rise up a new person

someone who isn’t afraid to choose

none of these things will make me happy

if I walked back through that front door

climbed the two staircases up to the third floor attic

and flew out the window 

would I crash onto the pavement of those front steps 

between the lions carved from stone

or would I rise above the telephone wires and street lamps

and never feel fear to speak again

or maybe I would be a messy little girl and that would be okay this time 

e  v  e  r  y time I get what I want I feel empty

there is something missing 

i might find it written in the street signs

North and Main

Livingston

Shawsheen and Whipple

when new meant better

a real house where a real family would live

ghosts were supposed to stay behind

pictures up the hallway

devil sleeping on the couch

always unsure 

not quite right in this body

bones stiff

heart fluttering

small cage

chasing breath

getting taller

fears settling in their new positions 

cozy insecurities

discomfort painted the walls

i don’t want to be here

again

nobody on this earth knows me

myself included 

i see happier faces

always gloating, laughing

they see what I can’t

have what I never will

know the things I haven’t learned yet

figured it out

i’m listening

i’m waiting eagerly

desperately 

if I take steps forward

i might just fall out of that third floor window

and land in the pond at the end of your street

and if I follow the power lines 

i might just swim all the way out of here

and breathe for the first time new air

and it will fill my lungs until my chest expands into new depths

dimensions I never knew were there

and I’m smiling

i can smell it

acceptance

i remember it

peace

i hear it

laughter

i feel it

safety

i taste it

joy

i made it

i finally made it

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no sleep? no problem.

Today I will make a full pot of coffee. I will dash a little cinnamon in my freshly ground beans. I will watch the sunrise, casting giant reflections on my wall through the windows. A delicate pink glow. I haven’t slept in days, maybe weeks. It started out sporadic and has become consecutive nights in a row. I fall asleep and a few hours later I’m awake. Plagued by unsettling dreams, my body getting hot and then cold. Blankets on, blankets off, just the sheet, no sheet… goosebumps… and so on. No sleep can make you feel delusional. I ran from a giant, fat moth last night. It was chasing me, coming at me franticly with sporadic, wild wings. It could have been a bat or a night bird or…. I screamed and backed away from it only to tumble and fall onto the pavement. Scrapping the palm of my hand, that stingy burn that makes you feel like an eight year old who just fell off their bike. My to-go coffee cup and cell phone were spread across the sidewalk. I jumped up and quickly looked around, did anyone see? Surely they would ask if I was alright. Surely they might think I was a crazy woman. Seeing only my reaction and most likely, not the moth. As if knowing about the moth would make them think me any less crazy. I laughed hysterically the whole drive home replaying the incident over and over.

I am hysterical. That is, I feel like my life is in hysterics at the present moment. It’s my insomnia. It’s visiting, uninvited and won’t go away. It likes my new loft. Thinks its cozy, cool, and makes lots of interesting noises. It is like a needy, annoying, and often rude acquaintance trying desperately to be my best friend. How do you even know me? Why do you always know where to find me? Are you spying on me? Are you maybe a little scary? Your desire to be around me possibly a little dangerous? Yes, yes and yes!

Insomnia makes me itchy. When I am that tired, over tired, so tired that I can’t sleep even if my insomnia decided to take a load off for the night, I get itchy. My eyes, my skin, my scalp all itches. And then I get a stuffy nose and sometimes I start sneezing and then my eyes water like fountains. And they burn. They burn from rubbing and from being open too long and from the night air that they are not supposed to be so exposed to drying them out. They burn. They look the way they feel and feel the way they look. I am allergic to insomnia. My body rejects it as sleep rejects my body. It is a vicious sickness. I’m all glassy eyed and zombie like. I have a hard time laughing at what I think is funny, thanking someone for what they’ve done that’s so kind, annunciating my words, clearly verbalizing my feelings, thoughts and opinions. It appears I only have one emotion. One expression. One speed. A zombie. For sure.

I would like my unwelcome guest to leave. Go on a vacation, go home, go for a long drive, get lost, go for a swim, go to the moon, go to the market, go to the movies, go to the park, go to their favorite aunts house, go to a cabin in the woods, go for a run, go for a bike ride, go for a hike, let out some energy, get tired. Take a rest.

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Home

Sitting on my leather couch. Legs stretched out in front of me, ankles crossed. There’s a ticking from my ceiling fan, if it had a pull chain swinging from the motion of its propellers, that would be it. Pull chain absent, from down here it sounds like a distant water drip into a metal pan. After searching for the drip on my first night here, I discovered the culprit. When there is so much open space with no barriers, sounds tend to get lost. Their origins hard to pinpoint. They echo, spread like smoke. They could be anywhere, come from anywhere. The sound moves, plays tricks on your ears. Have you ever felt like you belonged to a space? Like maybe you were born there or should have been. Maybe it was in another life. That’s how I feel here. I feel just as much connected as if I watched every brick that built this wall laid one by one. Or as if I laid them myself. Like I have held them in my hands. Felt  the weight in my palms, the gritty texture against the inside of my fingers. They are familiar to me. Like an old friend but with more history, like my grandfather. 

I’ve had too many cups of coffee, my bladder tells me so and I resist the urge to get up again. It would be too warm In here if I had on more than this flimsy tank top and loose boxer shorts. I am just on the edge of being comfortable. Another body in here would surely kick me off. The sun, shining through the 10ft arched windows, making its way across the floor and onto my toes. So warm it’s hard to believe it’s out there and I am in here. There is a very subtle but effective breeze from the fan above me. Just enough. Still I smell the slight scent of warmth from under my arms. You know when you’re not sweating, but not exactly dry and your deodorant from the night before has faded. It’s not a bad smell. It’s the smell of being. I rather enjoy it. Saturday mornings off are a new thing for me. I haven’t shaken the impulse to go do something. It’s more of a feeling that I should go do something. It seems like everyone does. I have a conversation in my head, reminding myself that sitting down on my couch with a cup of coffee and reading in the morning is doing something. It’s as productive as going to the hardware store or emptying the dishwasher. Perhaps a different kind of productive. But nonetheless. Why is productivity that way? Why is re-centering and nurturing your mind thought to be lazy? Why is there a certain time of day when it’s considered appropriate? Why do we wind down at night and gear up in the mornings? I find in the mornings I need to be grounded. I need to connect with myself. I’m so easily stirred up, fragile in that way. Sensitive. Both mentally and physically I need a sense of calm, quiet, peace. I am quite content with doing what others might see as, well, nothing. 

Since I’ve been here, I’ve killed three bugs with the back of my hard cover book by Michelle Obama. It just happens to be the only thing around that’s hard and easy to grab. I find it quite fitting actually. I appear to be Becoming less afraid of them. Meaning not that I’m okay with them around but that I can kill them myself and not have to call for back up or give myself irrational anxiety. Perhaps it is because of the sheer size of the space they are in. Everything looks so much smaller. The walls are quite grand. Massive. The ceilings with their exposed beams and pipes are soaring. Everything feels almost open to the sky, majestic but in a raw, earthy, dusty and also minimalistic way. Industrial but not cold. Clean but sprinkled with cobwebs that are out of reach or tucked in corners unseen.

 I feel as though I would never tire of this view. Never want for more yet always finding more. I can grow here. I feel like I already have. I’ve both grown and been born in this space. It is a space of past, present and future, simultaneously. The three have joined together, met at the same moment. Become inseparable, interchangeable. The need and ability to distinguish between the three has vanished, it is no longer necessary and yet there’s something so poignant.  It is a place of pure being. The purest of existence. The most beautiful of existence. Where imagery, words and songs live. Where the very bricks hold your hand when needed, push you forward, let you fall back, give you guidance, give you a hug, give you inspiration, comfort. Listen. Absorb your voice, your feelings  keep your secrets to themselves. Tell stories of grit, strength, failure, power, sorrow, joy. Provide you shelter and substance. The creaks in the floor boards like an old book. A space can be that for you. All on its own. Like a version of yourself in building form. A sturdy foundation. Home.