I have been feeling significantly more alive over the last few weeks than I have in quite some time. I’m not sure what has caused the shift (oh, resist the urge to know why!!) but I’m sure of at least a few things I can point to: spring, sunshine, more daylight; and, an upcoming change in my regular day-to-day work, one which I feel incredibly positive and excited about.
I feel more alive, more ‘with it’, more here. Feeling alive.
I want to get back to writing here a bit more often. I want to keep myself afloat, keep proactive, keep tracking and noticing progress and when I notice things, notice them. Maybe this is more a meta-post than a post-post and do I care and does it matter?
I want to “own” myself more. I would like to stop apologizing so much. I would like to let myself lean into discomfort more often, recognize that social situations or the unknown, or whatever it is…. let myself be there with the discomfort more. I notice when I am anxious, I often say things that I worry about after. When I let myself feel anxious and stay Real, it all feels much better.
I would like to live more from love and less from fear– I know the world is scary, but so many people have demonstrated time and again their compassion and kindness. I would like to trust more, and fear less.
I would like to learn more about sensitivity. I’m sensitive. I ruminate. I worry. I spin. I care. I feel. I feel so much and sometimes so deeply it pains me. I would like to accept this and live from this genuine, Real place.
I would like to remain curious about the world and others. I would like to live from a more kind place in my heart and be more able to share myself with others.
I do these things. I would like to live from these places more often.
It is spring.
Next week it will be a year since That Day, since he died. His death has wrecked me, twisted me inside out, shriveled my insides, made me want to die to stop all the pain of grief. His death broke me. It broke me wide, wide open because I didn’t hold back, I loved him with every cell in my body and every part of my spirit and soul. It was a traumatic death. It is grief, and it still sits with me. It is hard. It gets easier. I feel hopeful again. I am starting to talk about him, which is something more than not talking about him at all. I can hardly believe it has been a year.
I feel ready to resume my life a bit more. I feel more willing to try. I feel a need to try.
I am okay with the idea of tremendous loss, of tearing my heart apart in the future, because that means that love exists. I’m okay with it. It has been worth it. Grief is exquisite, in a way. It is exquisite because while I was mired in such pain, such joy also unfolded in my life. I don’t know if I have ever felt so permeable, so broken, and so full of feelings. And then the winter came, with deadness… and now, some green seedlings inside of me are coming alive again. I’m feeling pain and joy and hope and gratitude– all of which is laced with grief and also separate. His death was a huge crack in my walls and I keep chiseling away.
I must keep chiseling away.