Life insists. Another lap around the sun, ordered by Coach Universe. No amount of whining, wishes or procrastinating will change the mind of the Universe- so all that is left is to lace my shoes a little tighter, dig fingertips into flaky, shaky ground, brace my feet against the starting blocks and prepare to run.
Birthday plans? Work. Followed by a mandated court workshop. For three hours.
There will be no friends, no dinner, no drinks, no happy, no party, no music, no laughter, no celebration. All business and checking boxes and compliance.
I make myself permeable, and the wind blows through me. I make myself invisible, and though my feet fall heavy- I disappear without a sound. I make myself quiet, and sit with the absence. The vacancy. The emptiness.
“On the day when
The weight deadens on your shoulders
And your feet stumble
May the clay dance
To balance you…”
I fold the little scrap of paper tightly and place it back in my left hand pocket. The edges are already creased and worn from contact with the medallion that also lives there.
It’s engraved with two words: OWN IT.
It does not own me.
“I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.” –DH Lawrence
The words are ones I’ve inked on many a water jug, on many a training day. During some of the most difficult endeavors of my life, they’ve been the last thing I could see as my vision faded to black. And back.
My vision is cloudy, these days. Obscured. Stifled. Choked out. I’ve got unfinished business. I’ve got another lap to run. That’s how I’m doing.
Hello, friends. This is me. Is that you?