Dizzy Spell.
The days are getting longer, but I'm daydreaming in place.
I’d told myself before that I would only write about what moved me, and lately, not much has. Not anything that I haven’t thought before, at least but, now that I’m saying it out loud, this isn’t true at all. If I go back, I recall crying at the sunset recently. I stared at it from my bedroom window and I wrote to myself: “I wonder if I could ever be like that. Something that doesn't have to do anything but be in order to be beautiful. In order to be loved the way I love this.”
Just as I could go on and on about why I even felt the need to think that, I could talk about how the music lately has been so lovely or maybe I could tell you about how dancing has felt freeing again but that would just take oh so long. I’ve wanted to share how it felt when I realized it was April and that April meant my mother’s birthday was coming up. Just as I've wanted to share that I finally got to go to San Francisco and that I think my writing’s absence was never about not being moved.
I think I’ve been moving all along, but just haven’t felt it.
Or rather, I just haven’t known.
Life’s felt the stillest yet most nauseating it’s been all year despite the changes being made. The successes. More space in the garden, less pruning to do on my end. More time to learn, sleeping the same but better when I’m away, quietly having my tea each morning. I try to keep it this way. While not without challenges, progress is progress nonetheless, and I’m eager to accept where I’m headed. Back to a day maybe a month ago or so, I was looking at one-way flights to Cambodia. Ideally to stay alone somewhere up in the mountains, away from whatever interference keeps getting in the way of my peace here.
It’s like I’m standing before the doorways of finding something new, running away from everything I’ve ever known and have been at the mercy of, or probably reaching the beginning of what I know could probably save me for good. Hopefully it’s the latter, but whatever decision I make will end up bringing me somewhere— so I guess it doesn't really matter. After all, every decision is to take me far. To save me for good, and to make the days much brighter.
And I wondered and wondered about that all throughout March and April. What I’m hungry for and how much freedom I want and why I want it. What it actually is. I’ve said it before, that it’s something we build and that it can’t really ever be given. I wrote about how I want the space to be wrong, right, quiet, fun, afraid, tired, loving, sour… Different now or the same as before.
Good or bad.
I want that. It feels like I’ve never had it. Because truly, I never really have.
It’s a wish waiting to be granted.
May’s halfway through now, and I think it’s leaving me just as quickly as it arrived. I remember back in April, dramatically, I told someone special that the air was getting thin because we’d been away from each other much too long.
We finally got to see each other last week and, eagerly—
I’m already anticipating another day.