Here I am. I am here.
Lately I’ve been living, and writing – but mostly in my head. I try to capture little moments and feelings and figure out how I’d put the words down on paper; I write and edit the sentences in my mind until they fit together and tell the story, and then I can move along to the next thought.
Then I forget everything, obviously.
It’s funny that I still think of this as “writing” – because if I’m not actually putting the words down anywhere, how is this different than simply thinking?
It is different, though. It’s definitely writing. It just is.
So, still here, still writing, still trying to use my words as tools to help me sort it all out.
This summer … well, I’ve sort of fallen in love with this summer. I’m in love with its long days and warm winds and all of the tiny moments I’ve “written” about in my head. What’s funny, though, is that I’ve not only fallen in love with the good moments – I’ve fallen in love with all the moments. The sad ones and the scary ones – there’s love for them, too.
Why, I wonder?
I don’t have the answer, but I have a sense – it’s a sense that, when love is big enough, it’s powerful enough to envelop anything else. When love is big enough, there is nothing stronger. When love is big enough, it teaches you how to honor all the moments – the good ones and the shitty ones. When love is big enough, it teaches you how to honor all the parts of yourself – the good ones and the shitty ones.
When love is big enough, it helps me to stand up and to say “here I am.” I am here.
Here I Am: Alone — and muddy — on the side of a mountain, about to break treeline, caught in a violent storm. I’m not sure whether to keep going or to turn around, so I’m pacing small circles around a tree. I am wishing there was someone else around to help me make a decision, but out here I am responsible for myself. Still pacing. Fear aside, it’s awesome to be outside in a storm. Awesome in the literally sense. I am in awe.
Here I Am: Friday night, mid-summer, doing homework on the living room floor. I’m doing that thing where I work for three minutes and then go back to check Instagram to see what other people are doing. The Fear of Missing Out is strong, and the homework takes much longer than it should. I am lonely. On this night, I am angry about the way my life looks and feels. But there’s a tiny spark of pride, too; it doesn’t go unnoticed.
Here I Am: Floating in a three-dollar tube in a small inlet on the Cape. The plans for the day all fell through, and in the water, we realize that sometimes broken plans are the best plans. In the sunshine and salt water, I am happy. I dive under.
Here I Am: Working with a small group of people. I’m doing the thing that might be my thing. It feels as though my insides are buzzing. When I’m in this zone, I feel the buzz. It’s like walking under power lines. I read that Universe has a deep hum and I wonder if this is what I’m tapping into. I want to float in this frequency, but it’s difficult. A few hours later, I’ve plummeted.
Here I Am: On his couch, wishing he’d let me help. I am afraid for him, but he is smiling tonight. It smells like pine and citronella here. I’m wondering about how the Universe works and whether there’s someone up there pulling the strings to be sure that we all meet the people we’re supposed to meet. There’s something tugging at my heart tonight. I know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for the people I love.
Here I Am: I’m crying. I can’t stop. I don’t know why this is so hard and sometimes it feels as though we’re stuck in an endless spiral and forced to deal with the same problems over and over. I am trying to understand why we can’t seem to resolve things. I wonder if the hurt I feel is ever delivered to me on purpose. I wonder if I’m hated. Days later, my face still looks swollen, eyes puffy and red. It is shocking how this grief can transform me into someone I do not recognize.
Here I Am: The world is upside down. Sirsasana, headstand pose, at 7 a.m. on a Tuesday morning in a yoga studio in my little city. I’m using the rear brick wall to keep me from falling, but I’m testing my limits, trying to rest just one foot against the wall, and then just one toe. I’m safe and supported and in love with this moment. I love the brick wall. I want to be someone’s brick wall. When I leave the studio, the sky is pink and I’m a little bit weepy. I am doing my impossible things. I am wondering what else I’ve been wrong about.