Just Write

The air is cool on the balcony in the morning, and most of the time the bees leave me alone now, since I never did get around to planting flowers this year. How did that happen? How did I blink and the spring, then summer were gone? I sit there for a bit in the morning, every day that I can, sipping my matcha, eating some breakfast, thinking about the day ahead and this life of mine. A few days a week I try to bring out the laptop and either do work, or when I'm feeling it, just write. Writing is my outlet and my craft, it helps me express myself and understand myself. But how do you process a million different emotions when you can't actually talk about them? How do you sit with the what ifs and what abouts while the weigh of everybody's expectations hang over you?

Not to mention the weight of your to do list? There are big things to do like organizing the freezer and pantry, and oh man, our closet, plus the little everyday things to do. There are never enough hours in the day or days in the week, but I suppose that's just life because that is always how its been.

I'm happy and joyful and weighted and confused. But that is life too, I think.

I have gained so much this year, and changed, and feel loss on the horizon like an impending sunset. But that doesn't have to be bad, because loss can mean growth. Loss can mean the chance to adapt. Lost can lead to found.

And so I find myself on the balcony, time and time again. Looking, searching, finding, growing. 

All while the cursor blinks at me and I think, "just write. just write. just write."