With 40 has come a different understanding of time than I’ve ever experienced before. I crave the slowness of a day–watching the afternoon sun shift its course through my windows as the minutes move by. It might take a month to notice the difference, but each day where the light touches changes just a little and exposes a bit of something it hadn’t the day before.
120° has been haunting me the past almost 3 months. Thankfully, not the temperature. That would be awful. It’s been my main goal in flipping a world turned upside down right side up.
Here’s the current status: swollen knee, strained meniscus, gash in my heel, mildly sprained wrist, pinky slice from a Japanese chef’s knife, slightly twisted ankle, out of place ribs, and an okay attitude.
Not all of these are related to each other, but most of them are. Except the okay attitude. That came on its own at the beginning of the week as an unexpected Monday gift.
Okay, so I bought this leather jacket at Goodwill a couple of months ago for $14.99. I was so stoked on the find—100% leather, simple front zip with a few fun details like a lapel that has a couple of flat silver studs and it was black, naturally—my favorite color. The Goodwill tag said it was a size bigger than what the jacket tag said which were both smaller than what I typically wear, but with -30 seconds left until closing, I quickly tried it on and deemed it the perfect fit.
Just when I thought I would be in the shade for the rest of the evening, a perfect sliver of sunshine found its way through the buildings behind right before sunset. I was lying on my back, eyes closed, at the end of a free evening yoga class on the bluff overlooking the ocean. I could feel the gentle kiss of the sunlight on my skin and without prompting, I subtly smiled.
Two people I work with told me they were proud of me this week, and about something completely unrelated to work. It was unexpected, yet very welcome. As we go about our lives, it can be easy to forget how the little things we do are actually big things. Things that matter. Things that can make a huge difference in the trajectory of our lives. Things that both check and challenge us. Things that can even be, magical.
Have your tears ever frozen on your face? Mine did twice on Thursday.
It was an odd sensation. I felt the warmth of my tears welling up, and just as they started their gentle descent down the slope of my cheek, they hardened, momentarily permanent, refusing to be quickly wiped away, excused, forgotten. As often has happened the past couple of years, the tears weren’t triggered by anything in particular. It usually comes with a deep breath, a permissive opening in the body for feelings to take up space and refuse to be ignored.
In case you haven’t heard (or seen) yet, the 90s are in style. Even puka shell necklaces (I peeped some on a group of teens I walked past recently and couldn’t believe my eyes). Grab your baggy jeans, turn up your favorite boy band, part that hair straight down the middle, and dig up your old slap bracelet, because it’s time to live your best life resurrecting an era that was definitely not my epitome of cool. I’m so stoked to have a chance to try again!
One of my favorite feelings in the world is getting out of the ocean. It’s both a feeling of settledness and survival. The ocean is a wild one, never to be tamed, fantastically unpredictable.
Today the sunshine feels like a warm hug. The cold ocean feels like a reset. The quiet alone feels like an old friend.
Today, all things that I’ve needed.
Today, sadness and grief and loneliness are palpable and I’m really not quite sure of why. And I hate not knowing why.
As I write this, I’m sitting on a bluff overlooking ocean, the line of the horizon blurred by the lingering, distant fog gently moving away from the coast. There’s not much out there but the occasional, gentle lapping of a white cap and a sailboat lazily drifting at the will of the inconsistent thrusts of wind. I take a deep inhale and experience emotions welling up in my body as I breathe out.
I made it.
Yesterday I gave myself a hug. A real hug, as if it was coming from someone else holding me, and when I was about to let go, squeezing a little harder because that is what I would do with someone else, so why not give myself the extra love too?
My roommate has a perfectly minimal, slightly faded, image of the ocean cropped in a circle against white matting, in a gold frame hanging on the wall. Thoughtfully penciled beneath is the following quote from Isak Dinesen:
The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea.
It’s hard to believe that another month has passed. And not just any month, but September.
It’s all being held. The puddle with no definition of edges and shape is being contained within the binding together of people.
Saturday I took a bath, shaved my legs and armpits, and then showered to make sure I was extra clean.
The beach has been crowded the past few days. When I say "crowded", I don't mean Southern California beaches crowded.
The smell of lavender and sawdust float on the subtle breeze, dancing and intermingling. They pull each other around the yard like two kids eager to share their tiny little treasures hidden in a blade of grass or buried in the dirt or in the branches of the tree. The clouds are thick, but that doesn’t stop the sun. She permeates the gray with a gentle warmth, brightening everything just enough that everything feels like quiet joy vs. shrouded sadness. I will forever love summers in the Pacific Northwest.