Sunday, February 1, 2015


It is later in the day when my thoughts begin to slow down and I am not as frantic as I am in the morning. Hallelujah. (After 30 years I still struggle with the spelling of "hallelujah.") Why am I not watching football? you may ask. You may. You may ask that, but I do not have much of a response for you other than "just because." I could tell you that I don't care, that I would rather read, that I feel compelled to go on a walk, that I want to bake banana bread. All of these things are true. But we're not here to hear me discuss my reasons for not watching the Super Bowl. Or are we? We aren't.

At night, after most of the sane members of society have gone to sleep, I stay awake watching cartoons from the '80s because it reminds me of my childhood. The smell of my hair after being outside in the sun and the way golden light shines into my room after a long day also reminds me of those mythical, magical years. Lately I've been stuck inside of those years, observing them now through the eyes of someone who is technically an adult, but doesn't quite believe it yet. I still feel unrefined with scraped knees and jars waiting for fireflies. I still feel small. And I am waiting. I am still waiting for my life to begin, for the real stuff to happen, for the world to open up and offer me the treasures of a spouse and children and fences and yards. Turns out the world has always been open; I just need to stop standing behind the door.

But I continue to stand, frozen. I am not sure I trust my legs yet. Once I start walking and find that I must accept what is offered, I am then responsible. I am responsible for sensible bedtimes and bandaged knees. I am required to fill the jars with fruit, not fireflies. I must reach new heights rather than staying comfortably small. And so it's no wonder I remain frozen behind this door. Who wants to brave the elements when they have worked their whole life to stay warm?

Warm isn't worth it, though. I can't breathe when there is no breeze. Besides, there are always old coats I can dig out when the weather calls for it. Point is, I need to begin feeling the weather. I need to begin experiencing the passing storms and lingering sunlight. I need to let the rain touch my skin and the soil bless my soles. I need to let myself finally grow.


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