I am not responsible for every bad mood
Every freckle that appears
(Should have put on more sunscreen)
Every failure and every success.
I am responsible for me
For who I am and the choices I make.
We are separate
Me and her
Different people with different childhoods.
Though sometimes it’s hard to see the lines between us when
She came from me, through me.
She never walks, only skips.
While other children pop about like dandelions, she’s an orchid –
miraculously beautiful yet meticulous to care for.
I cry because of how hard it is to parent a highly sensitive child,
especially when you’re a highly sensitive parent.
If only I can remember again why I am here;
to be the earth below the river of her life,
guiding her to the ocean of herself.
To be the earth below the river of my life,
guiding me to the ocean of myself.
Month: September 2022
Garden Whispers
I was always praised for being fast and efficient –
At work, at school, walking, even going pee
Go go go go
Get married, have kids, buy a house –
Get it done.
Then I stepped into the garden and all I kept hearing was slow down.
This was very irritating.
I’m better when I’m fast
More worthy and certainly more valuable.
But then,
The wheelbarrow tipped over and I accidentally pulled out a row of beets
I thought were weeds.
Slow down she whispered
Slow down
Slow down
Slow down.
At least saltier
The summer of ‘22 —
A clearly punctuated gift of time.
A chance to remember life more vividly;
Come September, different from June.
Hopefully more refreshed or experienced,
at least saltier.
Endless magic at the Zoo at night.
Diving boards at the local pool, Sandlot style.
Bonnie Raitt and flies in the kitchen.
Rising Appalachia in the redwoods.
“Live your life time” at home.
Dog days coalescing with covid fevers.
A treasure hunt birthday to start and
an ice cream truck one to end.
Despite lots of activity —
the summer activity list still hangs in dismay.
Feeling like the days were up eaten by —
breakfast
after breakfast snack
regular snack
lunch
whining
afternoon “we’re sooo hungry” snack
“gross” dinner
Bedtime pb&j and bravery water
I wonder if all summer dreams are meant to be fulfilled or
rather,
to float wistfully around as unreachable promises;
seeding hope for next year or
even the one after.
“Boring” Life
After my dad died, I remember my mom saying that she just wanted her boring life back. The one where they went to the same Italian restaurant every Friday and kissed every night when he got home from work. The one where she would fall asleep on the couch while they watched yet another bad movie they found on Netflix. The boring life that was brimming with comfort, laughter, sarcasm, kindness and love at every turn.
I think about this often.
Sometimes I am guilty of feeling bored with life. I long for more excitement and adventure. Mundane moments leave me itching for something more. My freedom is loud and my desire to live, like carpe-diem-squeeze-the-juice-out-of-every-minute kind of live, gets antsy.
But what if this “boring” life is the dream? What if this iteration of time is the one I look back and long for? The one where “you mak the wrld btr” written in freshly learned handwriting lives permanently on my chalk wall.
I guess two things can be true; I can always want more for my life and I can feel a mountain of gratitude for what’s right here; a lifetime of beauty in the sometimes boring.
Altered Latitude 