Writing a feeling

I’m sitting cross-legged on the living room floor. The sliding glass door is cracked open and the air blowing in is chilly but the sunlight pouring in is warm. It’s so windy I can hear the trees rustling even though I turned up the volume on the stereo. I’m dropping-in to my childhood with this playlist.

These songs bring on waves of nostalgia. They take me back to simpler times. I remember our house with the sliding glass doors that opened to the lanai and we had those standing speakers that were as tall as me. I remember dancing to these songs as the sun was setting and everything the light touched would glow. I remember feeling the beat in my bones, the vibrations in my body. I remember smiling and laughing and spinning and when I really think about myself back then, it brings tears to my eyes. I knew I was different as a kid and sometimes it bothered me more than others. I knew my family was different. The music we listened to, the food we ate, the trips we took, the languages we spoke and the rules we lived by. I loved and hated the rules back then too. It was easy for me to believe that I could do anything. What changed? Where did I lose my sureness? Why did I bury parts of myself? I’m changing and I wonder if I’m just becoming someone who was always there.

Things don’t feel so bad right now. The idea of restarting my life doesn’t feel daunting. It’s not even really restarting because my life didn’t stop. Yea I lost a job, blew up some personal relationships, and fled Brooklyn but my life didn’t stop. The world sort of stopped. I don’t know what’s next. I have ideas but I’m in no rush to decide. I’m ok sitting on the floor basking in the sunlight wondering how the hell I go about writing a feeling.

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