Writing

Easy Enough

This year has been shit. This may be all that needs to be said. Easy enough.

Yet, nothing is ever easy, is it?

Compiling my thoughts is difficult. They are all over the place like a pinball bouncing against narrow alleyways and bright lights. It's a never-ending game.

This year I turned 44. More grey has appeared. Lines have burrowed deeper into my skin. I feel exhausted, yet I haven't moved.

Does anyone else feel this way?

The days since March have passed. The calendar pages have been turned. Most days are blurred and smudged with insignificance. Days of suggested do’s & don’ts. Then, there are moments that are clearer than glass. Memories we don’t want to own, yet can’t shake.

How do we move forward with optimism?

How do we move past doubts and stamp down fears?

How can we do better for our own peace of mind?

This...the text above...is the outcome of having too much time alone. This post is the consequence of not meeting with trusted friends to hash out random "Does this sound crazy to you?" ideas? Or laugh out loud with others over coffee. Or be supported by a friend over dinner conversation. Most importantly, to offer our own support with a hug.

Those numerous moments of "before" that made us feel normal and whole are missing.

Moments that were easy enough to obtain. Those which were taken for granted.

 

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