365 v.34 (016-030)
Legitimately finding it hard to believe this many days have already gone by. Taking it easy and trying to heal, but still have whiplash over the passage of time.
016/365
This recent injury of mine has really put into perspective just how much I still need to work on rewiring my brain when it comes to “setbacks.” There is a light at the end of the tunnel now, but I have to slow down, start over, and slow down some more… I need to be kinder to myself with many things, but especially this one.
017/365
When I was in middle school, my friend and I used to lay on her brother’s waterbed and listen to Nirvana and No Doubt CDs. I thought we would be best friends forever, like soul sisters. We drifted even just a year later, but not in any kind of incendiary way, just the way kids do when you don’t have any classes together. It’s so strange to think about the smallness of your world when you’re young and how impossible it is to imagine anything else but the moment you’re in. Being in another classroom was like moving across the country, socially. If I close my eyes I can remember the rippling waterbed and the sounds of a scratched Tragic Kingdom CD skipping.
018/365
My name is on the wall now. “My real name,” I excitedly told my husband, as we walked under the warm glow of streetlights. A wizard is never late.
019/365
Some people play for keeps; some people get to stay.
020/365
Sandor, my dad’s fish, left us in May during the lunar eclipse. He was beautiful. His scales were a vibrant gradient of blue, purple, and pink. My dad loved him so, so much. We miss him. He’s buried in one of our gardens, surrounded by some loose rose quartz.
021/365
My dad pointed out this spot of sunlight in our yard. “Look at that,” he said. “The sun is there.”
022/365
The melodrama before we leave always hurts. I try to laugh, but more than anything, I just wish I could explain that we will be back.
023/365
Everywhere I travel to (other than times I’ve forgotten) I take this small plush Hiro with me. I miss my dog so much when I’m away from him, even if I appreciate the break in routine. The first time I flew alone, I propped him up on the tray next to my airplane cocktail, to take a funny photo. I’ll never forget the small moment of panic when my flight attendant walked to my seat to ask if I needed anything. Back then, what other people thought of me was still a pervasive source of anxiety, especially with strangers. She simply said, “Oh he’s cute.” A tiny blip of benevolence that I’ve carried with me for years. I wonder if I’ve ever given a stranger that same imprint of comfort.
024/365
I will try not to be too sappy. I just love looking at your face. My heart, for always.
025/365
In a different lifetime, we lost each other over senseless shit, like insecure children surrounded by insecure children tend to do. Reconnecting was a real gift but reconnecting as we walked into better versions of ourselves even better. When you’re young and Going Through It, that pain can be a runaway, rabid kind of creature. Thank you for some shared growth and friendship, Amy. Watching you work your innate magic as a mother makes my heart feel warm and seeing you in your son’s face makes me tear up.
026/365
Chronic pain is fucking insufferable. The toll it takes on you mentally is equally miserable. The grief of it is, at times, too great, and so I fall into line with everyone else who shares only their shimmering moments. This is my life, too, though. This is the very thing that has redesigned the roadmap of my future. This happens no matter how good a trip is, how happy a season can be, how positive my mind has been. My body in all of its fragile glory truly humbles me every chance it gets. To have a partner by my side that loves me so tenderly when I sink into this space is the real medicine.
027/365
Great book. Hate flying.
028/365
We’ve got that wildfire haze all over New England. The days have an expired film look to them, but I caught a small moment where the sun’s rays didn’t seem so alien.
029/365
Giving myself time and space as I navigate my inner and outer worlds. It’s strange how uncomfortable it can be, to give yourself exactly what you need to expand and grow. This is a ritual I am learning and practicing, probably for the rest of my life. There is no urgency in meeting and knowing myself with each new day and each new bloom.
030/365
Dreamlike and faraway, soft scratches of static before the wires settle down. There’s a physical sensation, a warmth, a soft golden light when I let myself remember the good ones, too. The sweet honey of nostalgia. Fireflies in my backyard and jumping in puddles. Climbing trees and long bike rides to unfamiliar neighborhoods. Mouthfuls of candy and laughing until we cried. Even then, there was this lingering drift of melancholy, like I knew it wasn’t forever. Like I knew things would be hard. “Remember this,” I would tell myself. It was like a prayer. And I did. I remembered it. I can even shuffle the thorns and bramble away now, I can let that light in. I’m strong enough to and I always was.