Sometimes the work of getting better, and untangling the unhealthy mental recordings, snarled like so many high school mix tapes, and breathing in mercy to breathe out grace, sometimes those very healing processes can leave me feeling a little bruised and shabby.
I want to draw up to a table, eat something nourishing, look at something lovely. I want eggs from my neighbor’s chickens with their clementine yolks, I want the blood red roses from my sweetheart, and the creak of a new spine. Cold beer and salty popcorn. Freshly washed sheets stretched drum-head tight over the mattress, pillowcase smoother than my cheek.
I know. I know the time wrestling with shadows gives depth and meaning to the light. Many of my words are mined from the dark places. And the litany above are creature comforts, but they are more than that, these pleasures. They are balm for a weary soul. They remind me of who I am and what I love. They remind me that the good work of building a good life is worth doing.
Seeking midwinter inspiration with other good folks
writing along in February at Write ALM