I’m giving myself over to this season where I need to rest and recalibrate. I might start doing one thing, then realize I need to do something else (or nothing at all).

Instead of trying so hard to to change, I’m getting off the self-improvement treadmill. And asking myself, What if this is just me? Could that be enough?

I am gathering my thoughts and protecting my work by giving it time and love. Accepting that views through windows are my way of calling for connection.

 

there is something deeply lonely
in this place
rooms waiting for guests
like people who say yes
when they want to say no
like pretending everything is okay
when it is not
like struggling for love
by sacrificing our true selves
when all we want is to be known
and to belong

Not the story of any one particular day but rather the story of a year of days with nothing much to do and nowhere to go.

Where home and the act of sitting on the front porch, feeling sunshine on bare skin, has sustained us until this season,
where we take our first unsteady steps back into the world.