Wednesday, June 14, 2017


Right now. Right now I'm sitting on my porch with a cup of hot coffee in my latest favorite mug. It's white and over-sized with a shiny gold handle. There's an arrow pointing inside and on the outside it's inscribed in beautiful shimmery golden print....

"Wanderlust... a great desire to travel and roam about"

So fitting.

The birds are chirping and there's a perfect breeze on this oh-so-comfortable front porch. I can hear the kids laughing and playing during their recess at St Mary's School on the corner. The irony of being in a place so comfortable but so uncomfortable does not escape me. How do I hold the comfort of this moment with the discomfort of my life at this particular place and time? Even more so, in a place I have lost all desire to try to fix or fit or make anything other than that which it is?

How do you hold unbridled excitement at the prospect of something new with the sheer fear of the unknown? Tell me. Do you know?

My days have been spent pulling the tattered string of an old light bulb.

Light on.
Light off.
Light on.
Light off.

I am a contradiction in so many ways.

I want to cling to a feeling for more than a moment. I long for adventure alongside stability. I long for passion alongside comfort. I long to know all that I don't know. I want to sneak a peek at the ending but the pages haven't been written yet. It's maddening. I'm so tired of rereading past chapters. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. This I know.

I am no stranger to discomfort. We know one another by name. He has always come and he has always gone. But this discomfort has taken up residence and isn't leaving. I try to quiet the noise because in the moments I can quiet my mind, I've started to hear a whisper. The whisper comes wordlessly and I, being the master of words, always attempt to capture it.

I long to make sense of the non sensible. I want to know why. How did I get here? Why am I not living within the white picket fences everyone expects of me and that every woman is supposed to want? Why must I color outside the lines?

My mom's words weigh heavy on my soul.

"Why can't you ever just be happy?"

I really don't know.

I've always longed for more. I've always been curious to see what's just around the bend. I've always been pulled to go just a little further. A 5k? Ok. How about a 10k now? Next stop? Marathon.

I've spent so long doing what everyone else wanted. "Look pretty. Be quiet. Be a good girl." There was once a time I colored in the lines. I stuffed my pain in boxes and wrapped them all in colorful paper and bows and I sold them as my life.

But these days I prefer the unwrapped. I prefer the inside to the outside. Running over walking. Present over past. Real over pretend. Truth over lies. Circles over squares. Mornings over evenings. Passion over duty. Words over silence. Bravery over recoiling. Love over apathy. Real over fake. Fans over critics. Truth-telling over social media likes. Reaching over settling. Eccentricities over normalcies. Forgiveness over anger. Messiness over perfection. Genuine over bullshit.

Wanderlust over complacency.

Why can't you ever just be happy?

I really don't know, mom. But what I do know is that I've finally experienced some of the happiest moments of my life since I've found my way here, on the other side of that question.

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