I'm holding my breath... in life, and on the page. I've noticed this pattern in myself when life gets scary. I hold my breath.
I finally came to this composition screen for you -- my friends, family, readers whom I've never met.
One of you emailed me recently and said that you feel connected to me, because someone you love lives with chronic pain. You said when I don't post for a while you get concerned.
I hate the idea of concerning you.
So here I am....
{shy little wave}
I'm feeling pulled in. Pulled into myself, to my house, to my physical frame. It's quiet in here, listening to the beat of my heart, and sometimes it's loud... the thud of fear echoing off walls.
There's no point in worrying. I know this. I understand this. But when it's your life, your future, your uncertainty, you might fear too, I think.
It's been a rough few months. I've been doggy-paddling, keeping my face above water, trying not to drown in the incessant fatigue and pain that stalks. I've been keeping hope on the horizon, centering it in my sights. I've been counting my blessings, naming things I'm grateful for... recycling the smallest of daily minutia into joy, squeezing it through the thanksgiving mill I'm hand cranking.
Perhaps you're here too?
Keep looking for beauty.
Keep taking one more step.
Keep counting your gifts.
Keep taking one more breath.
When the results come in, and the dark night passes, surely there will be a new day.
