hold steady, right here
>> removing thorns + friends at the door <<
“I don’t want to be a thorn.”
Dear human being,
You never know what’s going to come up when you lie on your back in Shavasana. Last week it was this. This feeling. That the sharper protecting parts still block me from the tenderness, at times. As if I have to keep them up, so not to feel…
It’s a defense mechanism. That perhaps is doing more harm than good. Or at least, keeping me from some of the good.
“I want to be a vessel of love.”
The walls closed in the other night, like they haven’t in a long while. The noises all fuzzed together in unison, time slowed down, and there I was, shutting down.
“Can I have the keys?” I asked. Walking over to the borrowed truck. Laying the passenger seat back. Breathing.
I’d done it again, pushed myself over the edge. The perfect storm of a lack of sleep, a tired body pushing through a never-ending list. I know better. It was going against everything that I felt I needed. And the price was a crash.
I look around at all of this. All of this we’ve been entrusted with. This life, this opportunity, this possibility. And I still wonder how I will be capable for it. Or will I be?
Then I have glimpses. Like, what happened in the kitchen the other night. It was a different kind of things going blurry. Almost transcendently, like, this is it. Suddenly, I believe again. More than I have been able to access, in the divinity of it all.
The new light fixture hangs up above our round dinner table casting a glow. I sit around with family and takeout Thai. I think — this is what I’ve always wanted.
This sense of warmth.
I still worry about how I am perceived and I’m trying to ask myself why. Maybe it’s not as much judgement as it is… getting in trouble. But with who? I don’t want someone to misunderstand my intentions, ever. So I get tired, over-explaining, over-communicating, overcompensating.
In my effort not to be thorny. I whither. I wear myself down.
I’m still cleaning up my messes, one at a time. Overdue actions. (See, I just edited the word taxes to actions in my head on in this letter, so you wouldn’t perceive me differently). As if my decision to put certain things off and tend to others says something about my ability to manage, this life.
The truth is, I do things when I’m pushed to do them. And maybe we’re all working on that part of ourselves. I thrive under deadline. I run more when I know there’s a start line waiting for me. Is this me, or human nature?
I skipped my period for some months. There’s that thing about perception again. No, it’s nothing to do with pregnancy or a health scare. It was just tension, stress, change. All of it.
It arrived back last night about 3 a.m.
Release.
I love this dog snoring beside me. Nose tucked under the covers. All 95 pounds of him. Last night I awoke in the night thinking how someday he would leave me too. Everyone would. It ripped me up for a moment. Then I remembered, now Sarah. Now.
This is all there is.
Halloween is an interesting phenomenon. It’s this humanizing or even fantasizing with death. Almost to shield us from the realities of it. They say it’s when the veil is the thinnest and I believe it. I’ve always felt this weighted connectedness this time of year. Especially in this setting, where the leaves fall. Where nature is the visible metaphor for this dying off.
There’s some irony here when I’m putting together a Halloween playlist for yoga, and thinking of wearing my skeleton shirt, and also wanting to hold tight to the reverence of all of this.
I think that’s always been the point of my journey, to do this dance between the depths and the lighthearted. To paint emotions with words.
The question is, can you remove the thorns without damaging the stem? Without exposing so much that your form crumbles. That only remnants remain.
I’ve decided the only reason I am ever mad, is at myself and at my own dishonesty. Hear me out. When I have an issue I’m not speaking and just bury it down, it turns me against myself. To soften, and to remove some of the thorns and really speak one’s own needs without fear of perception. That’s the work, at least for me.
We went to this out-of-this-world place over the state line some days ago. I’m reminded we still need days like this. To discover. To not have planned. To roll however we please. To not answer to anyone. But days and days and years like this wear on you. And so we were reminded. That for these days to matter the most, having something to pour our inspiration into is the ticket.
And so we rolled down the mountain at sunset. Home to our corner of Main Street.
…
Outerspace transported me back to hanging out at the local vegan punk bar. My nightly spot in my 20s.
The thing that keeps me going daily is creating our own spot that can be someone else’s third place — that is a marriage between us and our past and the pieces and parts we’ve picked up along the way — and this place and how it informs it all.
A place where others come in, rather than me overextending out, constantly.
“Your greatest strength is also your greatest weakness,” she said. As the fresh apple cider rode in the backseat.
“You are a people person. You give it all away and have nothing left.”
FRIENDS (a poem)
Today I had friends at the door. One giving Copper his birthday gift. Making him sit on the sidewalk in exchange for treats. The other bringing down an estate sale find. Drinking glasses. "Here, we’ll just set these by the door for you." My door. My friends. My home. This place I don’t want to drive away from. Today I had friends at the door. ... This weekend I had a friend bring over bedding for our guest space. I didn’t ask her to, but she did. There she was at the door, blankets in hand. My friend. My door. My home. ... I have friends that I don’t have to leave. I have friends. I don’t have to leave. I’m letting it sink in. And even when I do leave. (Because life knows the open road still calls). I know I’ll be back... That I have friends. And that this is home. My home. My door. My friends. I’m still trying to breathe it in. What it feels like, to not always be the one going into someone else’s world. To have a door I can open. To let friends walk in. ...
Thank you for being here with me,
-Sar
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I’m so happy that we are friends!!! This was so awesome to read. So humbling and motivating at the same time. Glad that you moved here❤️