I don’t want you to blaze through this like you’re reading a grocery list. Let go. We flew over Lambeau field and I thought, home. It’s time to say it, home. In Austin, we stayed up too late and I drank too much and I smoked too much and I talked too much and I saw myself. I saw myself and realized how angry I’ve been in Wisco. How much I have taken for granted and how much I have downplayed and how much I have pushed away all while vigorously holding on. Afraid I would lose myself or find myself–choose the lesser evil, and I realize that I’m not going anywhere. I haven’t gone anywhere.
There’s a young woman on my flight. I call her woman hesitatingly, as she looks even younger than I look. She has a small baby with a lot of brown stringy hair in her lap. I want to tell her, your baby seems chill. But I see no point to that exchange and no benefit to either of our lives. Hi, I’m a stranger who approves of your life. Strangers on planes don’t care what you think. The flight attendant called the baby him and she interjected, her.
I think you can’t wait for someone to give you permission to be how you feel or to be how you are. But we do wait. We do lose our voice to the din of external expectations. Unheard, but still present.
I think you do know who you are but you’re not sure how you are. Don’t you think that sounds right? It seems right to me.
I feel like my life has been so hectic and kind of a chaotic tangle for many years now. And I have a hard time–I can sort out the tangles but then it seems to easily wrap up in itself again. And I’m left sitting on the floor perplexed with this cord. Not too overwhelmed and not discouraged, but I have a hard time maintaining the same level of determination and optimism every time I go to untangle the cord.
Another time of an investment of effort I will have to repeat. I guess that’s fine. I guess that’s living.