February 2, 2020 or Ship Unbalanced (40)

I cry brief tears in bed this morning, grateful for our home, the people who love me, my birds, trees, crickets, daddy long legs, squirrels, yard, the exquisite beauty and safe haven here. And I cry because I have lost touch with this, my deep gratitude, since I’ve been sick. It seems sometimes as though I am always recovering, or trying to, from grief or trauma, from illness or too much work. As though I am always trying to come back to myself in some way, to my life, to my dreams of writing and thriving. Being sick seems a little different, but in truth each kind of becoming well, or returning, comes in its own time. We can try to help the process, but we can’t orchestrate an end date. Still, I wonder how many people feel the way I do, so often trying to come home to myself. Do other people have some steady, solid, open-hearted, even-keeled way of moving through their lives? This morning, I suspect they do.

4 thoughts on “February 2, 2020 or Ship Unbalanced (40)

  1. “I am always trying to come back to myself in some way” Very resonant.. perhaps the human condition

  2. Oh, thank you for this, Linda. I was pretty sure I was not the only one, but . . . ;-)

    This is something I look at often. The other intriguing part of it is that the self I am coming back to is always different, too, new in some way. :)

  3. Taking the long way home. Journeying and returning, getting lost, finding a way back, that’s my experience.

  4. Oh, nicely put here, Sarah. I love knowing you feel this way, too. I especially love “Taking the long way home”! I am going to have to remember that.

    Thank you so much for returning here, too, and for all your “likes.” :)

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