Snow and Quiet
I am embarrassed by myself. By all the begin again-ings. By the belief(s) that come that I am ready now. That I know what I am doing.
I don’t know what I am doing.
When people say they don’t feel like an adult. I do feel like an adult. Just a very inept one. Maybe I should be grateful for the role models I had to make it clear to me that one can be an adult while still being deeply flawed.
This morning I put a block on all my social media. I made some tea and lay on the sofa staring out the window, through the falling snow, at the six crows in the treetop across the road.
I noticed the tension in my jaw.
Fatigue has taught me that tension is a habit of the body as much as it is a habit of the mind. I knew this before in a theoretical way. But now I know it. I’ve noticed that when something sets off anger in me now, I am too fatigued to catch myself from lashing out. Not in a “I’m fed up” kind of way – but in the sense that my body is just too worn to negotiate the feelings.
I am thoroughly permeable.
I think this an interesting place to be. It’s certainly a place of growth: meeting myself head-on in all my ugliness and good intentions – and in the stillness.
For all my not-knowing, God spare the person who tries to tell me what to do right now. I am a two-year-old, intent and frustrated.
I’ll show you when I’ve figured it out.
white sky unbroken
no sundial shadows
black crows puff themselves
settling into the pause