I am fighting for this time to write. By fighting for, I mean refusing to cry and become paralyzed with frustration over whatever issue is going on with my own computer and booting up my husband’s, which he generously offered.
Your battery is dangerously low, the screen reads as I wrench around from a semi-settled position propped by pillows on the bed to find the power cord that I’m hoping is close by. There it is on the floor.
How does it know? How is a computer able to tell me how depleted I feel? How I wish it were as simple as plugging into a power source and plugging away. I’m sure some analogy to a power source could be made here, but, honestly, I am too tired to think of one.
Earlier I grabbed a few minutes to write, sort, think, process while vegetable soup simmered on the stove and Steve had little girls at the library. Instead I took a facebook quiz. It was mindlessly easier than engaging my overwhelmed heart, and much more ego-stroking to have my superior logic skills affirmed by an eight-question quiz than to face a blank page waiting for words.
Who knew I was so logical?
Not like that Frozen quiz where I discovered that I am Pabbie the Troll.
I’m still trying to let that one go!
The year ends in two days, and unlike last year’s word which came to me suddenly, this year’s has been nudging me slowly, backing me into a corner, leaving me feeling restless, unsettled, slightly panicked.
Which is exactly why I need to choose it.
When I reveal this word on January 1, it will make sense. Until then, I continue to grow increasingly reflective, introspective, contemplative. I remarked on this the other night as Steve and I walked downtown to meet the clan, assembled from near and far just because we could this year, for a family dinner.
I took a deep breath when he asked how I was doing.
I’m struggling. There is so much going on, and it’s difficult, because I usually become reflective and introspective the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day. I don’t feel the space for that this year with all of the activity happening.
I was being serious and riskily sharing feelings, and he laughed. He laughed!
You mean like the way you are every day?
But the end of the year brings on so much more. It feels big and cumbersome and ready to birth out the new one. Heavy with hope, pregnant with potential, terrified of transition, my heart wrestles with what is to come and what is gone never to come again.
Like this moment of togetherness. Just because we could.
For two more days I long for space to reflect, regroup, and review what I learned to embrace in 2014. This space may or may not take place, and 2015 will roll in anyway, and that will need to be okay.