It’s funny, whenever I sit down to write these posts, I never know whether or not I’ll have something to say that’s worth saying. Sometimes it takes me the whole month to think of something even close to post-able, other times it all flows out in one sitting.
August has been a whirlwind of a month, so, in theory, I should have a lot to discuss, but the truth is I’m so wiped out that I’m not even sure what to say.
Again and again, I find myself writing about change. Are you sick of reading about it yet? It seems that is life’s chief function: change, adjustment, repeat. It follows that it would be a common topic.
I can feel the first nips of autumn in the breeze, tantalizingly close. Though this summer has been one of the most summery, wonderful, and memorable ones of my life, I’m excited to step into the next season in more ways than one.
They tell you about the seven-year itch, but I contest there is also a five-year itch. There is so much left to do and discover, and as I enter my 25th year sooner than later, it becomes more and more apparent that the best really is yet to come.
After a long time of feeling like the whole world was on fire, it’s a relief to realize the fire is not everywhere.
Growing up almost everything felt like something to prepare for, brace for, and account for. Careful steps in a smoldering house, a war zone that made it hard to tell if the smoke was everywhere or just in front of you.
So you venture out, sniffing, testing, looking—and you realize that, though the world has its problems, the fire is not everything.
There is time to drink cocoa and read stories and paint poppy fields and no one is going to come over and tell you you’re not allowed to be there, you’re doing something wrong, or you’re “in trouble.”
Ah, yes, that elusive “in trouble” that tends to follow like a shadow on those who grew up in tumultuous homes. That creeping sense of wrongness that acts as a shield of self-preservation for those familiar with walking on eggshells.
You simply cannot walk around this planet worrying about every little possible wrong step because you will not move. That’s the morbid yet empowering truth of it, folks.
We make the best choices we can with the information we have at the time and when we know better we do better. No one knows all the right steps all of the time.
There is space for mistakes. The ground off of the path is not full of landmines. There are no flames licking up the stairwell.
There is time to breathe, and sit in the sun, and there is even time to fall in love. And not only with a person—every day is a chance to fall in love with your life again, though the how is not always obvious. Right now I’m falling in love with thoughts of tomorrow, and my heart is reaching across the sea, and my eyes are drooping heavy with a day of anxious ruminating.
Well, I fear this is all I have in me at this moment. These fragments of thoughts collected at the end of a truly breakneck month.
Thank you for reading and may you fall in love with your life again, if you had reason to fall out of it.