lily pad year

When I imagine my life with you, perhaps we are in a distant place. I feel the wind combing through my hair, and the fresh sea breeze makes it’s way across a field close to where we live. Or that’s just how it feels.

Right now, this year feels like, a lily pad year - one taking me from one place to another as I grow and change within, without. I shift shape as the days roll into each other, and I wonder - what’s to come?

This apartment, although my own, feels temporary. It feels a cocoon for some sort of transformation I’ve likely begged for. And often, the change comes with unearthed feelings that need to be felt. Sorrows that need to be shed.

I feed the Monsterra plant next to the window - I drink the coffee, I give it the grounds, and it blooms wholeheartedly. Baby shoots sprouting weekly. I consider if I give myself the same care, I consider what it is I need to bloom.

Lately, I’ve spread myself thin - working two jobs, a day off here and there. I miss writing. I miss stillness. But it’s here now. And beneath a few sticky bits, I can feel myself. And I’m grateful for that. To say, ‘I love you, I have you. I know it’s been hard and you’re tired. And I’m proud of you. And I’m holding you, and holding onto what you deeply desire. And giving you permission to desire.’

The trouble is sometimes, we get caught in the visions of others. We become pressed between moulds society forges. We are uniquely delicate, while being graciously strong. And when one is changing, rapidly so, we must give ourselves permission for the unveiling to be somewhat far from expected. To allow it to occur.