It is okay. (Note to Self)



Everything is connected.

One night, I’m twirling in the desert, not a care to my name.
The world is on the horizon
and I don’t have to look at it if I don’t want to.
It will wait for me.
I can always leave. I can always be left
with nothing but the chance to rebuild.

Some nights, I cry in bed – not a single, glistening tear –
but a flood of confusion and fear,
for my future.
For my decisions, my direction. Why do I always make it about me?
I’m still getting to know myself.
I smile at the woman in the mirror every morning
and reintroduce myself.

A year ago, I was pedaling my way from Oregon to New York,
each click of the chain bringing more change.
When I came home, I wasn’t the same.
Today, I just go to work and back home,
in traffic.
I’m holding on and hoping for a dream that may not exist –
could it be waiting in another city or state?
With a pre-packaged starter kit of new friends and new confidence and old habits?
Or should I know better?
Just because I’ve tasted freedom
doesn’t mean I can rinse and repeat.
It will come in a different form.
It always does.
The compass is usually disguised as a clock,
making me think time passes too quickly to move on.

For the first time, I’m staying in one place –
a clear routine, a 9-to-5.
But all I can think about is how badly I don’t want to stay the same.

Can you feel the wind in your hair during rush hour?

Can you search for priceless memories when you’re just trying to make rent?

Can you explore the depths of the world if you forget to set your alarm for 8 a.m.?

It’s okay.
Your head is starting to hurt.
There is no making sense of senseless things – it is simple, remember?
Do not be complacent. Do not get stuck. Do not push others away.
Pull those you love closer – enjoy them while you can.
Do not let a night go by without love.
Give her a call. Give him some advice. Do more yoga. Say yes to late nights.
Say no sometimes, too.
Water your plants. Then laugh when you forget to water them again.
Paint a picture, then rip it up. Feel, damn it!
Then go climb a mountain. Sit there by yourself and remember that you came from that same dust. You can build yourself as tall as you need.
Do the things you won’t be able to do when you’re living out of a backpack –
Decorate. Use WiFi. Hang up a windchime. Have friends over for dinner.
Walk around the block. Work on your bike. Make cards.

Do the things you’ve always talked about.
Maybe now you have the time.
Sometimes you have to make the time –
  give birth to chance.
Stop burdening yourself. Stop complaining. You are lucky.
You are loved, and you love
(yes, sometimes too much. But it only seems that way.)
You think you are scattered, but you are seed – meant to be planted.
Find your gardens, and plan for rain. Plan for sun, too.
Expect it. Turn towards it.
One thing’s for sure –
you are still blooming.

It is okay to be down —

It is okay to not know —

It is okay to feel a million things —

It is okay to feel nothing at all —

Let yourself be empty,

but let yourself fill up again, all the way to the brim.

Then let yourself spill out.

It is okay.


2 thoughts on “It is okay. (Note to Self)

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