State of the Union

Do me a favor and don’t scroll down just yet. Rest your eyes on the photo. Take a deep breath. Pause after you exhale and wait just a second before reading on and scrolling down…….

You see I would love to focus on the clean bed. I would love for you to believe that this IS the picture. If you assume this is my life, then great. Less work I have to do to keep your eyes focused right here in the middle of my bedroom.

Except that it’s exhausting to dance around and wave your arms and make up complicated sentences about how all of life really should focus right here.

Eventually, you’ll see this. Me, well I try to ignore it. I’ve told myself it is temporary and it is. I don’t like to focus on the mess. I fight it sideways. I have to even be sneaky with myself.

In cleaning up my life, in clearing away what isn’t mine and finding the bits that bring me joy, there is a mess. It’s big. It’s heavy and hard to move. And there are times I am sure that all anyone sees of me is the mess. Even as I smooth my dress and hope all my grey hairs aren’t standing straight up in the part of my hair, I am sure that you see it. You know that I’m not … What? I don’t even know.

Enough. It is likely I have determined that you have decided that I am not enough.

I do know that this is me. More than anything else this is me. Right in this image below, with the boxes and the files and piles and beautiful bowls full, so full that you can’t see the beauty in the bottom. I am moving and changing and reshaping and constantly trying to figure out what fits–whether it is clothing for my never the same size two days in a row body, or how my voice should sound in a collage.

I’m a red hot mess who longs for the peace of freshly laundered sheets and an eye mask to block it all out for just a little while. How about you?

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