I’m struggling, a little. Maybe a lot. I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe it’s just me buckling under the weight of too many sad things. Maybe it’s that thing that happens when you realize that you’re not as strong as you thought you were, that you’re not invincible, that you can’t stop bad things from happening, that you can’t make happen all the good things that you want to happen, not all of them, not as many of them as you need.
Maybe it’s an identity crisis. (What if you’re not really bad, whispered a wise woman to me this weekend. What if you’re not so edgy? What if you are good, and soft, and vulnerable? What if you want that? What if? And I cried. Oh, how I cried.) Maybe it’s just my soul, tired from trying to figure all this stuff out. Maybe it’s all those things. Maybe it’s none of them.
It’s probably all of them.
I don’t know. I’m sick again, and my head hurts, and I’m tired, and I just want to lay a while in the shade of a maple tree and stare up through the leaves to the sky and the sun and let my mind go blank and just be. No thinking, no worrying, no fretting, no planning, no plotting, no fighting, no struggling – just being, there, in shade of the tree.