Every day is a journey unto itself. I begin it feeling one way, and end it feeling another. Sometimes I start off happy and end up sad. Sometimes it’s the reverse. And peppered in between the happy and sad are desperation, elation, sadness, fear, contentment, and sometimes, pure nothingness.
Some days I am startled to see that it’s noon. Some days I am shocked to see it’s not yet noon. Some days my patience runs deep, and some days there is nothing left. The smallest comment today reduced me to devastation. There are plenty of other days where that wouldn’t happen.
My days feel as though they are happening to me, not I to them. I never know if the thing will make me happy or sad. I used to be able to predict those things with certainty.
When I lay my head down at night I feel I have traversed so many miles that I can barely stand, and yet I know that I have only returned to the place I began, on the same pillow, in the same body, on the same mattress, under the same covers.
I know that though tomorrow is a new day, and although it will feel like a novel universe, it is nothing more than an ordinary day. It is only what has happened around me that has changed. And I can’t dig my fingers in and I can’t gain traction against the momentum of the life I set up so deliberately, with such purpose.
Now my intent and purpose has changed so drastically that I don’t know how to navigate anything. And here I am.
Ready to begin.