Journal Entry 8.31.23
I am starting a journal today, a day before the month of September starts, because life is imperfect and messy and so I want this to be imperfect and messy.
I am sad today. I long for the comfort and the wonder of my lover, I ache in the “beautiful end of summer the beginning of autumn” sort of a day. I am lost in longing and wish I could just let myself retreat into poetry, and knitting, and walks, and an empty head with no thoughts to direct my actions. But we leave for Nepal in less than a month, my son and I, and I must move forward with tidying and packing. The pain sits in my chest and belly, a cruel gremlin pleased with his ability to cause me to suffer. I try to thank him and try to forget his presence.
The wind blows the trees, leaving dappled light to play across the oriental carpet at my feet. It reminds me of the carpet in the house I grew up in and walked, as a toddler, following the pattern along the edge of the carpet. I would topple, and try again; a disciplined map laid out before me of my own making.
I have a desire to write, to communicate, but the trap is communicating in order to validate that my experience matters. The experience, stored in my body and maybe even forgotten, should be enough. I am trying to notice what my body tells me about me without caring if anyone else cares. But I do care. Caring is the root of connection. It is the judgement I suppose that I worry about. Communicating to validate my existence is the trap. Communicating to connect is not.
5 Things I Know About Me
Sight: Today the colors shifted. The light has shifted towards the equinox and the Canadian highs have arrived. The wind is from the north and the blues are bright and crisp.
Sound: Listening to Pavarotti sing opera.
Smell: My forgotten sense, less dramatic, I can no longer smell much.
Taste: Bitter coffee.
Touch: I wear my autumn scarf close, pulled up against the cool wind, the cotton brushing against my chin, the heat of my body driven down into my core.