Some mornings, I wake up feeling empty, as if carrying myself through the day is the hardest thing I will do. And on those days, I let myself feel the weight.
Whenever I face a setback, I close myself like a book left face down on the table, pages bent, story paused mid-sentence, waiting to be picked up and loved. But let’s be fair here, there is no one coming to pick me up.
So I pick myself up and make breakfast. I hear and watch the eggs sizzle and cook. The sound tells me the world is still in order, at least in the kitchen. I pour coffee into the mug and feel the warm steam touch my face in the morning breeze, not expecting it to fix anything but remind me that there is warmth for me in this world.
In this world beyond work and desire, I prepare for the real world. I must breathe deep, let the cold shower take over me, meditate, tie my shoes, hang the backpack around my shoulder, and put on a smile.
There is a vending machine that I see every day while commuting to work. Vending machines seem more reliable than people. You press the right button, you get what you asked for.
And even if you make a mistake, they don’t compare you to others who got it right. I wish life were more like using a vending machine.
It has been raining a lot here. I see some people run from the rain, some let it fall on them, while others dance through it. I don’t know which I am yet. But with time, I will know.
For now, I will have to make it through the storm, smiling and living each second, knowing that there is a better world for me, for I will not be the same man when I get there.
Loss is inevitable. People leave, life changes, things fall apart. And when that happens, it’s tempting to stop showing up for the world. To tell yourself, “never again”.
But what I’ve learned is this: sweeping pain under the carpet does not protect you, but rather it takes away all the colors and paints you grey.