I'm grieving the loss of little things and it's building up. I feel like changes are happening to me instead of being chosen by me. I have the sense of tumbling down a hill, and while it doesn't hurt, I'm shaken up and not enjoying the ride. I'm ready to sit still and look around, but we're not there yet.
My iHome got water spilled on it, which really affects me because I'm a major music-in-the-kitchen type. Major? No. Just another thing? Yes.
We are closing Cafe Connection and I feel like a part of my home is leaving. I have loved that place. My office day is
I hear the struggles of friends as they invite me in. I am honored by their trust and openness, and weighed down by the burdens they carry. I walk along with them, which means I feel the strain with them and I grieve this broken world. I grieve the selfishness of others that hurts those I love. I grieve injustice and defiance and blame and guilt. I'd fix it all if I could. I can't. I wish I were already a trained counselor so I could help better.
I watch a clique form without me. I participated in a group activity and was eager to make connections. The thing itself went well but something didn't lock into place. I feel like I have watched them all stroll off to the coffee shop after class and I couldn't go. They didn't notice my absence. They rave about the community you can find with them, but somehow I missed it. I stopped following them all on Twitter today. In the face of the back-of-my-mind loneliness, I choose not to receive reminders of where I easily faded away.
Our two red binders are on their way to Lima. It's surreal and far away. I can't do anything but wait. It's not nervous energy, but an unsettled background worry "When do we have to be ready?" "How long will we be ready and still waiting?" "How do I remain invested but ready to shift drastically at a moment's notice?" This matters to do well.
The kids have been in a wild spell, coupled with some sickness and a lost tooth. Emotions have run high and loud and teary. It wears on the brain and smothers peace.
So today, I am writing it down. I enjoy writing, using words to wrap up a concept that is beyond our specific communication, but capturing it well enough around the edges that we can pick it up and consider it. It helps me recognize what I think, and better evaluate whether I should continue thinking it. It helps me slough off the rough corner of my feelings and see whether they hold true or if they start to weaken under my fixed stare. I learn to trust my own heart and my heart stays more open and pliable.
Things are out of my control and it is hard. Life is unpredictable and it is hard. People hurt and it is hard. Things break and it is frustrating. Some decisions are made for me by other priorities and it is hard.
So today, I am writing it down. Because I have that choice, and I'll take it. I'll connect directly with the things that draw on my reserves and take them as mine, my badges of honor, my battle scars, my proof of life and relationship and awareness. This is me. I feel the highs and lows of each day fighting it out to see who will win, who will define the day. I breathe deep in the quiet (even if "quiet" means earbuds blaring in my ears to block out everything else) and weigh truth.
Writing it out is like coming up for air.