What I’ve been meaning to say.
Originally posted November 14, 2017 on the previous Little Mountains Blog website.
What I’ve been meaning to say is this.
I’m not perfect, I'm human. Everyone seems to remember that but me. Last night I stayed up until 2am (a feat not often seen by my post-college self) and started writing for the first time in awhile. In too long. (I mean, I write for a living every day, but I’ve lost momentum in writing for me. Passions are a fickle thing, don’t you think?)
I probably stayed up so late because of the frilly holiday Starbucks drink I had right before the sun started to set at 4:30pm (guilty pleasure, and it was buy-one-get-one-free). Daylight savings is over and I think I’m the only human I know who likes that the night falls a little bit sooner every day. The darkness outside makes me feel connected in a way I can’t quite explain. I love the flickering of lights off the cold pavement and the distant silhouettes of people I’ll never meet. It feels like the universe can finally be at peace because no one can see exactly what she’s doing.
This is the first fall season I’ve spent in my home town in half a decade. I’m in love with it. The fall that is. The cold air (that really isn’t even that cold yet!) and the changing leaves and the sprinkling of rain that reminds us we're alive. The other day, my Dad mentioned an upcoming high school football game he wants to see. He said it might be too cold to go. I hope it is. And I hope we go anyway.
What I’ve been meaning to say is it’s been awhile since I’ve been able to write. To write for me, and for you. I have a million things to say but lately, no voice to say them. To say something worthwhile, something that doesn’t feel forced. And this certainly isn’t it, but it’s something. It's not perfect, but it's something. It’s the possibility that these thoughts will make sense if I at least put them all down on the page.
I’ve been feeling very scatterbrained lately. Maybe you can tell. Not in a way that makes me lose things or forget plans, but in a way that makes me feel like I’m having a hard time fitting all the fragments of who I am together. Do you ever feel that way? I think this season makes me feel things. And I’ve never been good with feelings. But this season makes me look in the reflection on the rain stained street and ask myself if I really like what I see.
For the past few days I haven’t been able to see all of myself, literally, because my cat broke my only full-length mirror. Shattered it completely. Ran into it, knocked it down, barely got out from under it in time. Luckily for her, she has nine lives. As for me, I’m down one mirror and up seven years of bad luck. I guess I’ll have to decide if I believe in that sort of thing.
What I’ve been meaning to say is that in looking at myself this season, I’m having to remind myself I’m not perfect. And that I don't have to be. I’m having to forgive myself for making mistakes. I’m having to forgive myself for getting attached to the wrong people and for second-guessing my dreams and for not writing for me as much as I should. And I’m having to revisit that attitude constantly. I’ll take this chance to apologize if none of this made any sense to you. But it finally did to me. And it’s a good feeling.