Agitated and stilted.

“Wherever you go, there you are. Your emptiness goes with you. Maddening. Things that help: writing, reading, water, walks, forgiving myself every other minute, practicing easy yoga, taking deep breaths, and petting my dogs. These things don’t fill me completely, but they remind me that it is not my job to fill myself. It’s just my job to notice my emptiness and find graceful ways to live as a broken, unfilled human…

If there’s a silver lining to the emptiness, here it is: the unfillable is what brings people together. I’ve never made a friend by bragging about my strengths, but I’ve made countless by sharing my weakness and my emptiness.”

-Glennon Doyle Melton

It’s almost unbearable when the thoughts roaming and swirling around in my head are unable to fall onto a page. Limiting. Selfish. My being sits lifeless and patient as my fingers prance around the keys, poised and hopeful.

How does grace fit into the picture of humanity? The snow is falling easily outside of the window to my right. The world is laden with winter. The whiteness is pure; blinding.

I’m finding it both amusing and debilitating, the way I’m unable to crawl back to the beginning. Back to the first part of the story. How did we get here? When does this carousel stop turning. I’d like to sit for a while. I’d like to sit and wonder. I’d like to let the temptations and the expectations slip between my fingers. I’d like to dissolve into something without responsibilities and crippling emotions.

The human experience. It’s all part of the human experience.

How much of this did I choose? How much of this did I welcome in? How much did I create consciously or inadvertently?

I wonder if it matters.

It’s here, now. All of it. Everything. The cards are situated ever so carefully in my hands and I’m an anxious dealer that’s ruled by the desire to please the players around me.

Drowning here.

Where’s my fire buried.

Where’s my fire.




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