|Photo credit: terragalleria|
Sometimes I pick up the phone or turn on the Food Network when I'd probably be better off spending time alone with my thoughts.
Sometimes I look at my daughters and feel sad inside, like I do on Sunday night before the week starts again, or when Christmas draws to a close. I want to say, "Wait, slow down, it's going too fast."
Sometimes I look at my daughters and think, "I can't believe I chose this. This feels too hard."
Sometimes marriage feels like a long time. Not because of the person I chose, but because of the mistakes that we both make and have to fix, over and over again.
Sometimes my sisters and their lives feel so far away, so unreachable, that it's hard to believe we're living on the same planet. The spaces between us are just roads, sometimes interspersed with water, but sometimes they feel impassable.
Sometimes I feel more Christmasy before the holiday season.
Sometimes I like myself and believe I am trying hard to live well. Those are the days when it is easy to move forward with confidence, giving myself the benefit of the doubt.
Sometimes I feel small, like the road is long and I am far from home.
Sometimes I laugh until my face is sore from smiling. Later on, when smiling takes effort, I try and play connect-the-dots with the happier times until the picture becomes clear.
Sometimes I'd rather write out my thoughts until I understand what it is that I'm feeling than do just about anything else. The movement of fingertips on keyboard feels so arbitrary, like slicing bread or combing one's hair. But for me, writing always seems to gently nudge everything back into its rightful place.
Sometimes I forget to open the blinds when I sit down to work. So I stand up, and pull hard on the cord. Suddenly everything is brighter, and I can't imagine why I was working in the dark.