This morning I cleaned my kitchen. Well, okay, so I started to clean it, and then realized that what needed to happen was actually more like a full-on reorganization and scrubbing battle, and it was going to take longer than just one morning could afford. I threw things away and reshuffled items into more easily accessible locations, so that in the future I can simply glance into a cupboard and see that I need more chocolate chips, instead of buying some and then discovering that if I had done more digging earlier, I would have seen the three half-used bags of them already sitting deep in the recesses of a shelf.
As I turned to close the front door on my way to a midday meeting, I got a snapshot of paper bags scattered across the floor, a broom leaning haphazardly against the wall, and my friend's dog Moose, who I'm watching for the weekend, staring at me in confusion as I deserted him amidst the chaos.
I haven't been doing well lately, which I've mentioned on this blog more than once. There's been a lot of writing I've wanted to do, but instead I've just scrunched out a couple of vague blog posts that don't leave me feeling satisfied, because if I had my druthers, I would tell the whole world my whole life story as it is happening in real time, but I can't. Now is not the time. If you're going to share widely, make sure you're sharing from your scars, not your wounds. I strongly agree with that statement, but that hasn't left me much to work with. If you have a blog, and your writing leans towards the personal, and you can't write about the personal...what do you write about?
My answer to that has been: Nothing. You write about nothing, and you let time pass, and you talk to those closest to you, and you take deep breaths, and then you open your eyes one day and feel a little less clenching inside of your heart, and you realize you've hit a turning point. If you've been through tough times before, you'll recognize it, though it may be subtle. This time, my turning point felt like a slice of lightness so gentle that my awareness of it was delayed by a few days. I started wanting to spend time with people again. I wanted to get my hair cut. I decided to get a couple more tattoos. I got excited about things happening in my life. I am excited about things happening in my life. And when you go through a period of time where you're almost certain you'll never feel like that again...let me tell you, that excitement is a goddamn miracle.
So now here I am, writing again. Feeling happy, sitting in a coffee shop and listening to Miles Davis and smiling because a little boy just walked up and informed me that my drink is pink, and there are bubbles, and then leaning in and almost taking a sip from my straw before his mom quickly grabbed him and we all started laughing.
I am, in fact, okay. Not perfect, and far from being returned fully back to myself (are we ever really fully ourselves?), but okay. I am cleaning my kitchen. I am going to buy some plants. Last night, I fell asleep with my windows flung wide open and a perfectly coolish breeze on my face. The other day, I flirted with a cute boy. I just signed up for an ultimate frisbee league. I am going to write about my new job, and conscious consumerism, and love, and why people should care about climate change, and I'm going to meet friends for drinks and kiss their new babies and install an air conditioner in my living room so I don't die of heat exposure this summer. I'm going to continue to be okay, and eventually, I'm going to be better than okay. I've got nowhere to go but up. I'm pretty excited about it.
Happy Sunday, friends.