Things are beginning to settle. The exhaustion of every single thing being new is dissipating, and the rhythm is starting to hum, quietly.
Dawn is a lengthy process. At 5.40am I could see light outside the window and now at 6am, the birds have started to sing. It's this optimism that I have missed for all these years: however long and dark the night, there are birds and light not very far away.
Moving is a lesson in faith: every day, I've got to believe that it will all come together, that it will all start to work smoothly, that this is where I am supposed to be.
2 comments:
It is exhausting when every single thing is new. I'm happy to read you're getting into a rhythm, and that light, faith, and belief are now figuring in your days. In a way, I think where we are supposed to be comes down to where we choose to be. It is difficult, because in the act of choosing one locale, we lose the dailiness of the people, places, and culture of the locales we don't choose. Some days I wish for a jet and rooms in hotels all over the world. Other days I want a top floor loft in an urban setting that faces the morning sun with a walk score of 100 so I don't need a car. I'll use you as my inspiration for getting on to my next steps post the emotional and practical demands that followed my mother's death. Thinking of you, wishing you well, sending you love from California just before we spring forward here at 2 a.m. (I know it's spring, and we will get more evening light, but I still want my hour back.) xo.
This sounds so right.
Also, sorry to have become alarmed the other day but I am committed to your well-being. Ain't the Internet grand?
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