It is weird to be living the day to day when I am reminded that death is all around.
When a week passes with news each day that someone in my circle is sick or is at the hospital, I start questioning what it’s all for. If I’m doing enough. If I what I’ve done is enough.
Half of me wants to find a soft spot, preferably a bed, and burrow. Death can’t announce itself when I’m hiding right? Snuggling with my babes is a perfect way to pass time.
The other half examines the grandiosity that is life itself and each decision seems to have more weight to it.
Both reactions are a way for the body to process the overwhelm of emotion, pendulating from one to the other as I eventually return to regulation. But this time, with a greater sense of urgency.
I write everyday because it allows me to voice what is at the surface. Once that is out of my head, I can dig in another layer deeper. My daily writing practice has been my greatest exploration of self and humanity. Sign up here to receive these thought nuggets in your inbox on the daily.