b ~ And time yet for a hundred indecisions

What I know*

My hair curls wildly, almost uncontrollably, in the heat

When I stand up straight I feel so much taller, like I could take on anything

One less boy in the house means more quiet, more space. Nothing and
yet something to embrace.

When my hands are covered in dirt or paint I feel most alive.

I have friends who care for me, even though I often feel alone.

The love of an animal is pure and sweet. Even if it’s a heckuva lotta
work—it’s worth it.

That a photo shimmers in the viewfinder when it’s right.

I feel at home near the sea, with the waves crashing endlessly.

There are times when a piece of jewelry I am wearing expresses more
about me than the words I am using. It’s like a secret message in

The world may be obsessed with speed, but I want to take it slow.

Music lightens my mood.

My boys make me laugh. Sometimes a giggle, a chuckle or a snort your
milk/juice/seltzer out your nose.

Taking part in something communal is strengthening.

Baking calms me like nothing else can. Sift, measure, stir. Repeat.

Letter writing may be a dead art, but I passionately support sending a
handwritten note in the mail.

My husband always has the right words.

My book has a birthday but I don’t know it yet. (Thank you, Sugar)

But these thoughts are fleeting. When I read blogposts from some of my
favorite people online I feel like everyone has come to a revelation,
an epiphany that the world is getting us down and so we must:

Choose life

Choose to be happy

Choose more joy

Choose to be broken or broken open

Yet everyday there are a thousand choices. Right, left. Up, down.
Stay, go. Hold, release. Too many, too much and I’m indecisive about
everything; until it seems I have no choice but to sink into the muck
that threatens to swallow me. At work I recently was told the phrase.
“Collapse now, avoid the rush.” I feel like I do. Every Friday. The
week and all my commitments and lack of sleep catches up with me and I

Then I listen to that voice in my head, telling me what I know to be
true. I hold on tight.

*with thanks to Andrea Scher for her original inspiration

About andi

Writer, editor, wrangler of small boys and dogs.

One comment

  1. Holding on with you… It’s not easy. Sometimes everything feels so fraught, and loneliness is right around the corner, and things fall apart… and we still keep on and then we hear that song or see a smile or make the choice to just BE. Just be here now. And be grateful.

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