Life gets complicated when:

Life gets complicated when: 

Bits and pieces of my mom slip away and come back in without warning

The “normal” rhythm I love is disrupted by the changing seasons, the sun peaking out after days of rain, the excitement of the sun rising, the need for sunglasses

Laughter wafting in waves of delight

Heat coming from the floor ducts

Fall TV shows building in my DVR

Continued delight at my new agnostic view of nut butters

Travel without illness

Feeling the amazing energy of new people near me

The possibilities for the future

Walking in the rain, feeling the drops on my face and hands, no need for glasses

Breathing after days of smoke - the gift of clear air in my lungs. The starkness when you recognize your own fallibility

Creativity and ideas flowing unchecked by time - vacations from process and productivity and responsibility

Do we ever leave that behind for a time?

Why do we cocoon and isolate? Even now as I know what I’m doing, sometimes we need to wrap ourselves in a big blanket and snuggle away the confusion and resistance, allow the resentment to flow around and out again.

Is this the truth? What is the message I’m telling myself. My dad’s driving -such a swirl of emoting - to become the parent to your parent and put your foot down.

And yet I don’t eat over it - I thought about it - like the extra sensor node no longer in my heart - urging my heartbeat faster and faster - no longer there - burned out, scarred away - that feeling of missing something - still - and yet no acting on it - bizarre that even this week with all that I’ve dealt with with my father I have no interest, zero - anti-interest in using food to soothe.

It’s real. For me it’s real. And curious. Like maybe what it feels like to lose a limb and keep thinking it’s there but no longer applies, no longer serves it’s purpose, no longer functions in the same way. 

Bizarre. So fascinating to feel it - to have that urge and it’s not there. Still. After weeks.

Blessing it away to a safe and supported part of my past like the Bible my grandmother wrote in - lies and truths - like the past journals I keep for their energy and gifts that I will not probably ever re-read but cherish in gratitude for how it has helped me come to this magical place.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.