I wore my long dress from france with a cardigan today. It was 66 degrees, cloudy then sunny, cloudy then sunny, and so very blustery. I felt like I was in new york, but I also felt like I was in the uk again, both of which are very good feelings.
I carried my knitting to the park in its basket, and sat on one of the swings. I covered myself with my patch-quilt blanket and eventually wrapped the ginger knit scarf around my neck as I knit it. I was alone; I wasn’t lonely. In fact, I felt more like myself than I have in months. I felt at peace.
What is it about the wind that makes me feel like me again? Is it that it whisps away our negative thoughts, our sneaky little fears that make their way in to infect us? Is it that it lifts us up and wipes our slate clean? Is it that it carries our grief? Whatever it is, I accept it. The air without a breeze feels flat and depressing. Ireland really ruined me for that.
When I left the park, I listened to The Staves new album in the car and couldn’t believe how good it was. After listening to “Make A Decision” I felt empowered to actually drive to Chicago on Monday and see them live- just like I planned to. I don’t want to bow to fear and defeat. After all I’ve achieved!? It sounds so silly.
The panic set in tonight, and I handled it better. I couldn’t believe how quickly it came on. It was almost annoying. But I’m proud of how I didn’t let it take me all the way under. Cleaning tonight was therapeutic too. Now I’m going to play guitar before I go to sleep so I can wake up well for therapy in the morning.
I wouldn’t have thought this was where I’d be now, but I am here, now, being. All plans are a bust. I’m not in control, but I do feel as powerful as the wind at times. It can feel scary, but look how much comfort it brings me.
This is my reminder to self.
I’m so happy that my hair is long again and that I feel okay wearing less makeup. I’m so happy he’s out of my life. I’m so happy that I know how to find tenderness and beauty. I’m so happy that long dresses make me feel like me. I’m so happy that people are often kind. I’m so happy that I can play guitar enough to support myself singing. I’m so happy I went to europe solo. I’m so happy I’m figuring out my shit (better late than never).
Posting on tumblr feels strange and juvenile. But lately my anxieties feel strange and juvenile.
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