Eleven months in.
Some days better than others.
Some days kinder than others.
My brain doesn’t always function as well as it might.
I forget names. I’m not sure what day it is. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing.
Was there something to accomplish?
Does it matter?
Did it used to?
Should I worry that priorities are shifting?
Or is that the gift of now, this new perspective?
Is it clarity or insanity unfolding before me?
Things that once seemed so important fade into the background.
I want to feel good in my body. As good as I can. Without hurting myself or working too hard.
I want to appreciate the beauty of the snow, the light, this egg, my dog, my partner’s goodnight kiss, my mother’s voice.
I want to be better than I was. Kinder. More generous. Less competitive. Funnier. If I could be funnier, that’d be okay.
I want my sense of humor to grow, to hold me up, to cushion my fall from day to day and moment to moment.
I want to freefall into these days as if into the glory of God.
I want to believe in God again.
I want to believe in the inherent goodness of people again.
I want to wake up every day and simply be grateful to be here.
That would truly be enough.
And if, at the end of the day, I could feel like I haven’t caused more harm, that I haven’t been a co-conspirator to the endless ache of the planet and decency I guess I could say it was a good day.
To that I could say,