Lately
Lately I’ve been writing on the kitchen floor, cold tiles kissing my thighs, masking the heat of a city suffocating in the final weeks of summer. Even the beach feels stifling, the water too sticky. And so I sit on the floor, press my palm to the tiles, grab my phone to write while waiting for water to boil. The dog comes near and sits at my side, desperate for recognition and also a walk. Not in this heat, I tell her. In my peripheral, I see her one blue eye staring up at me, and also the crumbs and dust I missed during the last clean. Usually this would bother me but today, I just sit.
Lately I’ve been saying yes to every question, challenging myself to expand and stretch beyond my perceived capacity. This is on purpose, an intentional response after years of watching dreams slip through my fingers. Something shifted in the ocean last December when the sun painted the sky pink. I don’t believe in magic, but that night, the air was potent with healing. I drove home through a city that appeared softer, wearing skin that felt softer, too.
In the weeks that followed, I learned how to look in the mirror again. I wrote love notes to the new year on the apartment walls, then painted over them with blank canvas white and Irish green. I wish I had the recipe for how to heal so I could save it for later. What I do know is that it started with ocean water and ended with paint.
Lately the world has been sending me gifts: new creative energy, deepened friendships, restored hope that we’ll have our baby soon. It’s hard to receive and not wonder when these gifts will be snatched away. I almost cried on a walk last night underneath the half-moon, unfamiliar feelings of joy and hope and assurance that maybe it will all work out swelling in my chest.
I’m forcing myself to be grateful and believe in good things that last while still allowing doubt to linger nearby. I’ve found this to be easier—letting doubt stay in the wings. To ignore its existence wouldn’t be truthful. Even a healed broken heart remembers the pain of breaking.
Lately I’ve been feeling everything at once: sun washing my hair, cold lake water pulling me deep. I want to drown in a crowd of singing fans at a concert, then sleep alone with the windows open. I long for winter yet mourn for July. I long to be a mother, yet I already grieve the end of the person I am today.
I imagine that’s how retrospect works. The final mile wipes our memory, and nostalgia for the very beginning sets in. Nothing seems as tragic once the ending is revealed, once we know for certain it will all be okay. If we made it to the other side once, perhaps we can do it again.
Weekly Feels
Wild Rivers's new album is the perfect soundtrack for the final weeks of summer.
It’s still a ways out until the pub date, but I have to share this book! I’ve spent an entire month reading an early copy from the publisher because I can’t bear the thought of finishing it. I can’t wait until the release date and to add a hard copy to my library. (Pre-orders matter for authors, so gift yourself a copy for the new year!)
This Mary Oliver poem:
“Even a healed broken heart remembers the pain of breaking.” Love this 💜
What a pleasure it is to live in the poetry of your words for a little while