There’s a little girl I know, with dimples in her cheeks and a light of curiosity shining in her eyes. Young and naive she lives in a world yet to be tainted by fears and worries known as adulthood. She is quick to laugh, often smiling to herself at a joke or limerick trapped inside her own head. She lives in a world of make believe, where fairytales run free dressed up in magic dancing with fairies somewhere beneath the trees.

I know her well, we met long ago on the border of one of her stories. Playing games together we spent our times fashioning worlds of wonder. Playing hide and seek was her favorite you see, running off, away from me, waiting in a magic state until I came to find her. Sometimes she hid quite easily, I’d find her unexpectedly near sitting down beneath the sunset. The game was played out easily and seemed to end in mutual enjoyment. I learned the clues on how to look for this energetic child in silver linings and in between blinks, the usual places she hid.

Stopping to admire a bush full of butterflies, shed be standing just next to me. Or searching in a park, I’d see her on the an open hill, flattened on her back like the grass eyes locked upon the clouds “what is it you see up there? A dragon or a castle?”. Playing all these games with her I found myself still childish, sweet naivete returned to me, my burdens lying down.

Sunsets fading over mountain tops, a dog frolicking in the snow. A butterfly pausing atop my sleeve while standing statue still. A flower dancing in the wind with smiles for the sun. Banishing monsters from beneath my bed and dreaming of a castle. Making up a story of its livelihood from centuries ago, and how it felt to live in time before electricity. Dreaming of a future that perhaps could come true, of love in life without its loss, where people return to you.

This dimple cheeked girl with pigtail braids looks an awful lot like me. Known by a different name she always stays the same. I think she cast a spell to never change her ways, a child she always remains. Perhaps she is from never never land, but the truth is I’m not. Too often I get lost myself, forgetting my inner child, surrendering to the burden of being an adult. Buried in lists of things to do, I forget to simly stop.

This last round of hide and seek, I’m still trying to find the last place she went and hid, it’s much too hard for me. The little girl I love so much has hid herself too well. I’ve looked in all the familiar places, pausing just long enough to recognize she’s not hiding there, but where she is I’m not. This game has taken so long I’ve almost given up, I’ve rushed right by I’m sure I have. Feeling deprived of resources can’t she see I’m out of time and energy to play this silly game. Time is to precious, with to much to get done, no time to be a child or go searching for myself.

She’s hidden quite well you see, she has all the time it takes. Children live outside of time, a week feels like forever. What was yesterday anyway, and when will it be tomorrow? She has the time to wait for me, patient in her hiding, until I remember how to stop and move out of my own way. She must believe I’ll find my way, she’s holding hope for me.

I’ve realized now how it’s happened. I stacked my lists up much to high to hibernate from feeling. Feelings that I usually admire and entertain over dinner became guests more like unwelcome frequent fliers. Dumping themselves upon me with no thought to wait in line. My boundaries, they weakened from the incessant pressure, I caved just once letting everyone in at once, blinded now by bodies I’ve deftly lost sight of the lines. Overwhelmed and burned out, how did I get here? Always trapped by running mouths, sat listening politely to feels feeling out. Bearing all the weight alone, the burden felt to boring. Suddenly I realized that time was mine to own, no time to listen to you and yours, I’ve got to much to do. My business my remedy for drowning them all out, instead of rebuilding the boundaries that weakened in the pursuit, I ran away from all of it, my lists of to-do as my defense.

Lost here “accomplishing” tasks and chores with little meaning, I ran out of time and energy to look for the girl who waits to be found wherever she’s still hiding. She must realize where I’ve been, her patience wearing thin. She’s found a place deeply hidden from me that I can’t just point her out. Intentioned as she is she knows I’ll have to go in search, to really take my time and skill and not a demure peruse.

Relearning how to find myself dressed up as a little girl. I’ve found some time to think on it, to come up with a plan. Rebuild the fenced in boundaries that define a safety zone, to allow me once again the space for truly letting go. To find a way to be free again, to explore and dreams in worlds like Neverland once again. Looking intentionally for the girl I know so well, but forgot all to easily.

Joy! Is that you, are you still there? 8-9-10, Ready or not here I come!

The snow started falling
to keep up with the temperatures
That went from 70 to zero

A drop into freezing
From sunshine dazed glory
Over night without warning

These knots in my neck
Slid down along my back
Cramped and in pain
Its chronic inflammation

What do I carry?
What all am I bearing?
I thought I had better knowledge of balance

Yoga repose
I can’t even go
No time to reflect
I can’t get a grasp on my head

Breathe in breathe out
Just a moment of present
Thoughts light a match and run off with my head

The effort of controlling
This heedless abounding
Is effort I simply can no longer afford

The list gets longer without any checks
What am I doing that’s running me over?

Words all day long
No end in sight
Questions need answers
Hold on, just sit tight

There used to be one
Alone in the dark
Time etched away for the list to get short

Growing to fast
Five left to one
Plus lunch and more lists

Wait what was I doing?
What is it that comes next?
I’m out of time
Multitasking is a lie

Running home in the dark
To hibernate from the world
No questions unfolding
No one around for an ask

All the people I love
Extended just too far beyond
Reach out I cannot
I’m surviving being buried

Is it winter and darkness?
Too much responsibility?
To much running with my eyes closed?

Not enough yes left for me
Out of words
Out of time
Out of steam
Out of fun

No dancing, no singing
I don’t even care
No giddy, no laughing
I’m under repair

These knots tell a story
I already know

I’m not protecting my boundaries
To keep myself sane
To much of one
Without all the other

Vacation is calling
I need to let go
Not just for an hour
Laying down on the floor

Really and truly reset my focus
Call into balance
Work life and myself

I need to remember what it feels like to drop
To find contentment and joy
To sing my own song

To fall asleep when I want to
To be present in a moment
To feel like dancing
And have energy for the things called fun

To be myself again
A lighter version
Who smiles inside
Instead of frowning

The inner bubble of joy
The space to be social from overflow
Instead of from a place of depletion

The line of burnout looming too close
A motto pressing
I’ve already learned I can’t do it all

But when do I write
When do I feel
When do I have things left over for myself

Vacation
You are intentioned and purposed
A focus, a motto yelling out loud

Time to run away
Self care first on my list
Time to press pause
catch my breath
Release and let go

Doing nothing perhaps is all I need
To find a way to come back to myself
The girl who smiles from the inside

“The function of education is to teach one to think intensively and to think critically. Intelligence plus character – that is the goal of true education.”-Martin Luther King Jr.

MLK had a dream. But he also had a voice, and we still hear it today. Inspiration if we listen.

I have a dream.

That kids with special needs would have funding sources that allowed for individual plans to truly be individual instead of “billable”.

That families would have ongoing support, after the age of three, from professionals working with their children providing consultation across specialties instead of isolated “direct contact hours”.

That professional establishments were equipped to generate funding to develop global programs in order to provide true multidisciplinary teaming and affect therapeutic change to individuals holistically.

That educational programs for kids with special needs and typical peers were blended into a reality and built to foster emotional intelligence, empathy, emotional regulation, social response and conflict resolution instead of standadized test scores for 5 year olds in kindergarten.

That as a society we would recognize the need for socialization and community and bring them back to life.

That we would shape our youth through play to create creative and flexible thinking as a way to determine success instead of living in a box directed by someone else’s book with too many rules dictating success.

But really my dream is that the silenced populations would be seen and heard without everyone drowning them out with all the words shaped by ego, agendas and bullying. I believe we have all shared the feeling, sometime in our lives, of being silenced. Only through empathy can we begin to see our differences are really the our similarities.

My dream is that we learn to actively listen to each other. Then we would hear clearly from those who don’t talk so loud.

I knew you when I saw you
Somehow you were like me
Blonde and blue eyed
With too many things to say

Laughing at stories playing out in your head, careless as the moon rising up at night
What do you hear?
What’s that you’ve thought?
I can see it in your eyes when they look into mine

You have something to say
But it’s lost just there
A sound, a grunt, a howl
But no words come out despite your tries

The attempt to share
Just beyond yourself
A frustrating trap
Grasped yet lost

Joy loosened from a ponytail bobbing in the sky
Giggles falling out spinning in a circle
Grabbing my hand to ask for my help
Bringing me a toy with a turn to share

I knew you when I saw you
I swear we’ve met before
Maybe in a past lifetime
Maybe we lived through a different war
I feel somehow connected
Like we’ve done this once before

How else could I understand what it is you need to say
The attempts you make each day but still stuck without a word

Do you know that I’ll help you
Do you know I understand
Is it as clear to you as it is to me
That I know the words you’re tripping on

I’ll help you find the way
It’s the reason I’ve been put here
To help you find your voice
To say I see you and I’m desperately curious to know the things you know
I’ll search with you for the key
That unlocks the box you’re trapped in

Find freedom and expression
To sing your song
To know you belong
To live your reason

Like a princess in a story
You’re only through chapter one
Yet you’ve already touched us all with a wave of your magic wand

You’ve cast a spell
Making impressions upon all our hearts
Like Elsa, Belle and Ariel
I see you in a fairytale still unfolding

You’re special to me
I have already seen
The mark you’ve made on me

You cast a spell
To forever dwell
As a big character in my story

Blonde hair bouncing
Blue eyes cast upon me
The box you need to climb out of
I had one of my own

How much I wanted to be the one who got you out of yours
Finding the key to all your words in this story outline
But all to suddenly in life our paths have stopped their intertwine

It’s too early for me to call the time
On our parting ways in life
The road turned left and you’ve moved right
Already time for goodbye

My heart aches
I wasn’t prepared for the twist
An aperitif of sweet heartbreak
Unwelcome on my tongue mingled with my salty tears

I won’t be able to break down the door
Or unlock the box your stuck in
Perhaps this time my part to play
Is the old lady fortune teller

Helping you along your way
Knowing that I understand
That the box can be broke
And the words will be there
When time comes in full and you’ve found your key

I hope there are words written down on a page that remember this connection called you and me.

But know as you go that that page will always be marked in a chapter of my book. I’ll keep those words safe as they are my own. My words about you, forever in my heart.

Self talk.

I’ve begun to notice something about the way I talk to strangers, friends, colleagues, my dog and to myself. I’ve noticed a pattern that one of these things doesn’t belong.

In times of stress I’m often the one others turn to to explode, yielding their feelings without much thought, vulnerable in my presence they spill away, yelling or crying as I sit near by and listen, giving them feedback wrapped in a hug, they go on their way lighter then they were before we logged minutes together sharing this space.

Looking back through my life I feel it’s always been this way, people at ease in my company dumping their feelings thoughtfully at my feet. Years ago, and for most of my life, I almost couldn’t bear this place of sharing. I didn’t see it as a compliment that others felt safe in my presence, without boundaries I’d fine myself completely drowned. Not knowing how to leave them I’d carry other’s burdens around with my own, unable to fix them I felt the only way to care was to keep them as my own problems, honestly believing that this sharing was the only way to care and lessen their burdons by doing so. The weight of this believing became y undoing having the thought it’s too much to carry, it’s going to kill me. The world was heavy and too full of sorrow I felt lost and bogged down in everyone’s problems.

I’m not exactly sure of the day when I woke up and realized that I could just listen instead of lugging burdens. Maybe it happened after I’d started to unpack my own baggage, realizing clearer what was not mine to pick up. Having gone through a deep cleaning and sorting of my boxes of bagged I knew what I owned, what to keep and what to toss, it became very easy to unpack the extra boxes that were no longer of use to me. Drawing a boundary without even trying, possessing “this is mine” drew its own line. Life continued to present me with people willing to dump, true world practice learning to listen without picking up. A day at a time these lines traced deep in motor memory, no longer thinking is made a groove, deep and round out, these boundary lines are easily seen and deeply felt.

Easy for me to listen and feel, the plight of others still rides along with me. But now in a boat called empathy instead of a suitcase stuck and lost at a stations baggage claim. Putting myself in someone else’s shoes is easy to do, perhaps I haven’t walked the mile to say I understand exactly, but I grasp the distance of those blistered heels having walked long enough in my own tight fitting shoes.

Only recently have I come to learn how important it is that I’ve figured this out. Others providing feedback on my external narrative, my communication is so direct, straight to the point yet lacking any sharp and pointy edges. It’s valued high with nasty words of judgment like should, could, would or have to, left out. Finding a way to direct compassion for humans and this life as we go through its burdens and pitfalls, sharing the joy side too. Sitting in feelings until, ready, move through it. Shapes an experience of knowing it’s safe to simply be human.

Patience and perspective somehow I have fed this diet to others, and yet internally it tastes like a medicine I’m still struggling to swallow. Strangers and friends, colleagues and acquaintances I communicate peace, yet inside it’s a war zone of leading to let go.

My dog lives with me and knows much of what I feel and the things I say in my head. He sees and hears my thoughts from a different language, my inner voice layered in skewed perspective. As a pup I had the hardest time with him, my anger button tripped on rage in to quick an instant. My frustration with not knowing how to correct, punish or change what he did, often serious and expensive chewing destruction, without a negotiation of some kind left me bereft in blaming myself trying to shape a rationalization. I’d have to drop my anger and channel my rage, pushing it down and turning it around on myself since it needed an escape, he didn’t deserve it since he couldn’t understand why I was so mad, the fault landed with me, deserved it, should have seen it coming and prevented it. Yelling names at myself or sreaming “Your so stupid!” Throwing down layers of blame dressed up in should, self recrimination and pressure to know better. Years of conversations with blame in the lead, I never realized that I was really so mean. Holding myself to an altered expectation than anything I could ever imagine I’d say to another person. My growth with laying down my boundaries grew out of me externally quite easily, but without the slightest realization that they deserved the same expression internally.

Only today in a moment of practiced opportunity did I notice this shift in exchanges from external to internal so openly. My dog ate my socks for his Christmas eve dinner with holding this secret present from me until 2am an entire day later. A rude awakening of vomitting non stop, Teddy shared his secret of stealing my socks with a questionable one stuck inside of his gut. Emergency escalating Merry Christmas to me, this feels like our past with another fabic eating surprise surgery. Thoughts ran through my head blasting at him, so angry at the cost, they were expensive socks, and now the money the vet will rack up, sigh, I’m drowning there’s no way have I got enough lucky pennies to cover all of this. Running through thoughts of all my new claimed stress with no where to turn, no place to dump, the one second of opportunity I missed before hiding my socks from this beast I know who eats fabric to ease his work day abandonment. No way to rationalize or externalize this fight, so into my head blasts my thoughts “should have been more on it, not dropping the ball”

At the vet I talk through my feelings of dread, lightly skating the ice frozen over the depths, I noticed right after they left, the words on my lips weren’t full of self blame or angry punishment, but rather “well shit this just happened” seeing myself as a simple human, instead of the crystal reading prophetic all knowing avoider of disaster, somehow super human. My dog ate my socks and he needs a job modeling, or else I protest, he must wear the cone of shame, for I know he ate too many socks, but the real damage is (please live longer and be ok), his bites made a hole through my pocket.

Within that moment I heard myself talking to someone that wasn’t myself. This voice about me doesn’t belong, it fits right in, knowing the feeling of dropping the ball, of a collected consequence without blame…or shame!? How am I only just learning to be kind to myself, to change the voice in my head…why didn’t it go inside out?

What a feeling I feel, of holding myself to the same expectation I express to everyone else. I’m human. That’s all. What a joy it is to be simply human with accepted mistakes. The weapon of false expected perfection and abusive words layered in shame no longer screams out. I’ve dropped the stick after practicing for years of telling myself new things, Its voice has died, the stick’s been put down. In spite of the stress of this day, and its cost I’ll take all its pain for the magical feeling I feel having escaped something worse. That mean voice is gone, life is enough, responsibility and consequence weigh heavily enough without the abuse of blaming shame and perfections forceful should.

I’ve actually learned externally first to become more like myself. Listening to my voice from inside my own head, it matches outloud with what I’ve already said. Practicing acceptance of life lived as a human, I can taste the fruit of freedom from abusive I’ve cast on myself, learning over time how to finally talk to myself.

Lonliness. What name do you know him by? Do you know him at all, or do you avoid eye contact pretending he’s just a figment…nothing more than a made up shadow cast upon your wall?

I know him personally. I’ve written about his face, his presence, his lesser qualities. I don’t know why, but to me he’s a him holding space by my side.

I used to know him in one dimension only. Covered in fear, he dressed up as the vision of death. Wearing black, faceless, and haunting my steps. He encompassed fear and tasted like the end. He followed me around, ever present in my shadow, haunting my future with seven letters that pushed together spelt out FOREVER.

Dressed in black for my death, he was prepared for my funeral, maybe so was I, haunting my steps, living under my bed, taunting me in my sleepless dreams, stealing away what didn’t belong to him. Ever present, just a breath or a step away from ruin, he alive sucking life from me casting daggers from the cover of my shadow. I learned to fear him. To make choices for life with him as my lead… was he alive in my shadow or was I in his?

Rejection. I said stop, I learned to hold a boundary. Stressed to the max, holding firm in my fear, he ceased to inhabit the edge of my bed, but I’ve learned in time he isn’t always dressed up in black and waiting at the edge of my bed…the color of my death.

I’ve found his name, lonliness without threat, dressed up in yellow, just like my tent. He feels comfortable and content, sleeping again at the edge of my bed, in the middle of nowhere wearing a new colored thread. He comforts me along with a blanket of stars, when the world gets quiet and demands fall apart. It’s just me and him, alone in my tent, or feeling the feels watching a glorious sunset. He’s consistent in showing up and sharing an intimate yet place of contented connected space of just him and I.

Here I am so small beneath a universe of stars, a galaxy of questions and a place marked for me, where answers loose merit and breathing counts for free. I find peace and harmony alone with the stars, wrapped up held safe in a blanket of yellow. I am small and yet large, I exist just for me, bound by fibers painted yellow like the sun, embraced with someone bigger than me, lonely adds a vowel next to me, changing to Alone that feels content lacking misery. Content and confined, lonliness doesn’t haunt, but holds a place next to affectionate space meant to feel small and big pressed together underneath the stars.

Then there’s red, a place I feel like I’d like to know more. A place on reserve for those conversations after dark. The place I imagine that yeilds connection and desire, shaped by life and maybe satin, roses and time reservered for pillow-talk made for two bodies together after the dark. Two souls connecting, really just being real, shared only together, edith no one else knowing, this piece that’s defined by years held captive from reality… just a dream. Lonliness he wakes me each morning with the sun, hazy from imagining all the moments i lived through alone in the dark. His face is red when he wakes me c replacing dreams of company with a single lonely expression. A smile for the space that he holds, for now marked by dreams of what I wish were more… romance I don’t know you, in your place I see him… loneliness trying to sustain the shape of a dream feeling of satin and lace, and the hope for romance.

Or maybe less vibrant watered down into pink. The cute thoughtful places where I wish I’d be for someone else’s thoughts to loom with significant creativity. A thoughtful expression, a special extension, a moment thought out deserving the label of “date”. Where time is slowed down and effort is made to look a certain way for someone else, a glance or a notice from yesterday that shows up again fully present today. More than attention meant only for a moment stolen for now like a common line an undesirable agenda. A caress, or a kiss, a special thoughtfulness, that’s flirty beyond platonic feelings…maybe leading to bliss?

I buy myself flowers about once a week. They make me happy and it’s easy to do, the small things and thoughtfulness of self care or extending a nice thing for myself. I don’t think much of it, but once the checker said “I’m sorry you have to but your own flowers” which for some reason put my on the defensive, ready to fight or stand up for myself, or make him feel better somehow the words rolling off of my lips so hollow ” oh no worries I do this all of the time.” I swallowed the space where lonliness reared its head, to bury the real estate he saw saving myself from the sorrow, public shame I felt, when Iin hindsight I said “so am I” filling the space I inferred, “I wish I felt special” with lonliness blotting in pink petals my lonely and sappy emotional tears.

And then there’s blue, like the moon lyre at night, like a homonym taking it’s own multiple meaning as its shape. Like the color of water, peaceful and comforting in its sound, representing a place that we all long for, the quiet absence of sound. The color of feeling that makes you long for a friend, or an embrace that has the power to last beyond the awkward and uncomfortable stage. A color that seeks a hand to hold, a familiar someone who might know the way, the ability to comfort, the company that won’t run away. Blue the color of a moment to often shared between myself and lonely due to conflicts with scheduling. Later reporting on the color blue, it looses its depth unavaianle for filling with platitudes and promises or delayed accessibility for a friend’s hand holding. Lonliness had already offered its in the moment marker, just me and him again lost to my feeling. This color blue only known as a feeling expressed to an audience of one once again, don’t worry I’ve got this once again as always, don’t fret over these tears that run down my face, I’m not alone with them, lonliness knows this place.

Sometimes blue changes his hue, donning a dress I feel less powerless as friends whom I trust open up robust with love and vulnerability, they hear, they see, they are familiar company for me in thor knowledge and experience adrift at sea with this known entity we’re all call lonliness. They gsther in pursuit to chase away the dark shadow of beat down my feelings colored black and blue. A simple SOS I served saying “I’m struggling, I’m hurting, I’m alone in the dark, big feelings, I’m drowning, Can you see me? Or hear me? Don’t leave me to the dark, I can’t bear the presence of lonliness’ haunting again in the dark.” I’ve learned to reach out to friends with the mark “purple heart”. This shape and color doesn’t haunt in the dark, his power is lost in magenta hues that buffer my fears. Lonliness looses power in the light of reaching out.

What about Orange? Do I know his face in that place? I’m not sure what this color represents for my space of healing or restoring, it feels layered by extorsion, exhaustion of too much extroversion. Company that takes away and leaves me with dread, a burning out feeling instead of fed. Orange is an escape, an easy walk away, but layered with threads of over compensation. Trying to ignore or cover up the beat that lonliness mostly fills me with. It’s not the amount of people in a room, the lack of depth not breadth that I feel left with. Shallow conversation, too many strangers, alone in a room that’s to loud to hear, or all the attention from too many beers leaving the one question “why am I here”? Lonliness found a friend pushing my integrity to be more like myself.

But what about green… mixed with brown? The color of vomit puked out on the ground…

Too much of a good thing, I need to reach out, caught up in my head and way too much of myself, lonliness takes a toll rolling my gut, where are my friends my means to get out? A muse, a passion a focus beyond this tiny little space of introverting too much. Lonliness wears a name tag label my “best fruend”, I can’t see the lie all alone in my bed on the couch with binge Netflix’s, where’s the balance called art? Mixing two colors doesn’t feel good…discontent and loneliness in the dark, all I can feel is watch out I need to…barf. Not sure where to step, too tired to clean up, I’ll jump over the mess until it makes sense to clean it up and start fresh. Chose one at a time, not nauseating mixed emotions.

What gave I learned from lonliness’ colorful expression? Lonliness is a multi fold, trifecta, a rainbow, not just an expression of dread, death or lack of emotion, but desire, contentment and dreams held in layers… not singing to fear like a storm cloud that hides, but maybe the joy of searching for rainbows.

All colors just as real, vibrant emotion, calling my name and shaping my story. The collection of lived black and white while stuck in Kansas, with brightness of dreams a desire found somewhere on the other side of a rainbow.

Lonliness or alone, what makes one real without the other? Time or space to listen and feel, or the desire to ignore the pain, constantly on the run? I’m alone and I’m happy, I’m alone and I’m sad, but at the end of the day I’m all things until my solo departure for this life on my dying day.

Lonliness has more than one face and I’m slowly learning the company of all his colorful faces, without judgment to find the place of deep contentment.

I can’t name this thing that I feel. I can’t see it’s face or know it’s purpose. Only it’s presence lingers and resurfaces.

I’ve been here before wearing this coat, or maybe it’s more like long underwear hidden from others layering me like a second skin. Heavy like a suit of armor, or maybe it’s an elephant, pressing on my chest, is it protective or simply restrictive?

I’ve been here before, maybe now it’s called my address, not just a season trying to pass on but rather a steady place to live.

Really I’m fine, pursuing my life, seeking joy, I’m ok and alive. Life is good, worthy of time, people are in it, they fill it with meaning, purpose and joy…so what is it, this thing that I feel? Listless, mediocrity, routine, humdrum, do my smile lines that crinkle really reach my eyes?

My house is a boat and my life fits in it, rolling along shrieking down steep pitches that bounce me down a creek and under bridges, laughing while trying to keep the things I’ve brought along with me inside instead of out. Holding precious memories, moments of fun too quickly gone, back to rowing my boat along the river. Mostly it feels endless this unceasing rowing. I’m tired so tired of this endless repetitive rowing. Surviving on my own rowing my own boat, this journey seems lacking in something, my tastebuds have all gone numb. Am I looking back for something I missed, or just ever present in all of this.

Rapids and danger keep growing, I’m left managing the pressure, don’t let anything fall over board, keep moving, looking forward and living right now in the present, when did rafting a river get so micromanaged. Two hands for rowing none left for saving the glass jars that are holding the joy, laughter and meaning, so fragile they seem, from the threat ever pressing the fear of overboarding, loosing something precious at the bottom of this sea.

I’m tired of rowing, where is this danger flowing, what direction am I facing, I’ve forgotten where I’m going. What is this feeling that has no name. An endless battle what am I fighting?

Looking back, how it lasts, how many battles is this? Is it one that keeps reoccurring, or is this a different number? Perhaps its scale is larger, painting time into a bigger picture,  needing to measure in duration, this battle should be called War.

Perhaps it’s an untangling of something much deeper, or a recalibration of normal. A letting go of something, making space for that thing coming next that I’m not close to being ready for. Maybe it’s a struggle to balance internal realigning, a connection in the fixing I didn’t know was broken. Maybe it’s simply a softening of a hard or sharp edged place, or the thickening of a callus I’ll need as a buffer to cushion a blow.

I don’t know it’s name, it’s purpose or it’s ending. Only the consternation of its tangled up presence, continually robbing me of my sleep. Rolling me over in the dark to write it’s own words, stealing away the time I thought was reserved for my tired head to snooze the second it hit the pillow.

Is it work, is it money, is it a dog denied his walking? Is it fear, is it scary, is it decisions that make me weary? Is it dinner planning, or daylight running too quickly into night? The one more task to get done again, or just the future wanting some plans that I keep ignoring? The list too long for everyone, or my forgetting to be nothing? A text unread, an email sent, an alarm to eagerly approaching to jar me from my restless bed back into a monday morning?

I don’t know what it is I’ve wracked my head for a label or at best a level of comprehension, it’s not a noun or a verb… I’m left with just these feelings. I can’t describe his face even as it lies pressed up to mine, he’s holding hands with too many others, a tangled mess of faceless feels knotting me in circles.

I am at war! This is how it feels to be held captive by a band of masked emotions, until I manage to solve this riddle I’m left with only questions. What is this place, what is its name, what purpose does it have? Perhaps in knowing I can call it’s name and find the peace I seek.

Perhaps it’s simply a battle of being tangled in the wrong questions, rowing round in circles. Riddle me this, riddle me that, maybe I have the answers but the questions still need the asking. Seeking time to unravel and untangle its own name for this battle of tossing and turning for days. This inner struggle, at last when it ends, I hope to know its name.

I can remember the feeling, turning 18 and not having the slightest inkling of what I wanted to do with my life. Life was routine, childhood at its best. My comprehension of the world shaped by a high school job and the terror of completed college applications moving too fast pushed my life beyond a tiny town and life experience bound by parental curfew. The map to my future themed “find success” knew only a pattern of prescriptive ABC. No questions, no fears just plodding along, experimenting within reason, looking to find a something simple no dreams of passion.

Round and round with majors that might fit, education or writing, psych or physical ed, was there nothing to be good at, no where to fit in? Advertising the selling of others glory, too souless, maybe marketing yet…teaching kept calling, what about movement or dance? I flipped a coin and kept going, maybe rehab fit in.

Observation, there’s a story, I’ll see what it means, what does a PT do, what does it take to be a physical therapist? I walked into a gym with equipment I knew I hated to sit on let alone move, how could I possibly tell others to try these horribly boring static machines. Give me two reps, now four, sorry I’m lying, just pushing you past your own hold back. Not for me, this life labeled in letters called PT, physical therapy it can’t be. Seeing my distaste the therapist redirected saying “There’s speech down the hall, maybe you’ll like it much better, just down that way you’ll find the kids corner”.

Watching through a window I saw a young girl my age, or wee bit older, touching blocks as she talked to tactility break a syllable into three separate taps, segmenting a word targeting articulation. That sounds fun and not boring, even a bit melodic. Speech appealed to me musically with a tempo and a beat, teaching kids how to talk somehow lit a spark. Sure I’ve got this I’m tempted to see, there’s more I can watch, sign me up for the day. I think I know what I’ll be.

Stepping into a room with another therapist, she briefly explained that the next child was “autistic”, ok I nodded, no idea what that means, I’m just happy to be here quietly observing. I sat by myself watching this dark haired boy struggle to sit still and attend to his lesson. He seemed agitated, disturbed and distracted, pacing and lunging toward the clinic window, lifting the blinds every few seconds driven by impulse. It put me on edge not knowing why he was so difficult to direct, fleeting round the room participation on his terms.

My legs crossed tight with my palms pressed together I watched not realizing I was suppressing my own tension. Suddenly he turned and noticed my presence, in a blink he lunged in my direction. He pulled my legs apart from eachother to make a lap for himself to climb upon. Without a flinch he pressed his face smack up to mine our foreheads kissing, blue eye to blue eye, he stared into mine as I held my breath completely uncertain. What is he doing, I’m afraid to breath, I don’t think he’d hurt me, but what is happening? And just as fast as it happened, a blink he was gone. Shooting off of my lap, opening the door eloping in full glory, down the hall to wherever he sought, with a frantic therapist in tow. When she returned she spoke with wided eyed awe about what she saw “I told his mom what he did and neither of us know what just happened, he’s never done that. He doesn’t like touching and doesn’t make eye contact, I can’t believe that he did that, I didn’t see it coming.”

17 years ago I had no idea what autism was, or what special needs meant. When I changed my major to communicative disorders it didn’t occur to me that I was chosing to work with those who were defined as “disordered”, the thought became real when a professor said “you’ll be working with clients with various disorders: Autism, Down syndrome, 22q11 deletion, Williams, Turner, Noonan and Apert syndromes” what names are these, I had no idea, call it sheltered or naive or simply lacking in opportunities to interact with people who were touched by these labels. What was I doing, what ship did I board? Never could I be comfortable or qualified to help people I didn’t know a single thing about!

17 years later, in this profession for 12, I still feel most times that I’m buried in doubt. How can I help this child, this family at all!? I’m outside my depth, I know nothing at all!

In these years of being an SLP, I’ve learned a great many things, strategies and programs, tools and trades from PT’s and OT’s to BCBA’s. From supervisors, jobs and different bosses, from lectures and seminars and experiencing losses. The language of this way, no that way, no your way is fine, but mine is better argumentments that only factor dissention and break meaning apart.

At this point in my journey I’ve realized one thing, “I see you” is really what gives the most meaning. No matter the label, the struggle, the depth of the journey with a family a client or within myself as the therapist, respecting the voices and showing up present each day, saying “I hear you”, “we’ve got this” and “let’s find a way” is the most prescriptive change maker that gets us through each day.

It’s easy now to look back on that boy who climbed on my lap staring into my eyes and say with joking ease that was the moment I found my way. That it was a foreshadowed scene paving the way in helping me find my gift to say “I see you” to the ones that always look away. But that’s a way to fill a void with rosey hindsight when on that day I mostly felt shook up and seperated from the depths of myself. Worrying about misjudging my professional self, learning to trust my gut I find I’m still filled with doubt. In time I’ve learned to look objectively at myself and my skills enough to see a gift that’s been crafted out of years of facing that fear. I have a gift of seeing a kid, through the windows of, let’s call it a delay, and finding a way to teach them to play.

Come out, come out it’s time to play. I’m annoying you now and I won’t go away. Somehow intrigue will win in time and I’m patient in waiting until you show up to play with me for a round. You’ll lead and I will follow, pushing here and there, taking turns in this dance, spinning round in exchanges until your voice rings out. I long to hear the things you’ll say, not my agenda or my words repeated, just the things you may see or think about in the dark, what’s on your mind? What perspective will you share today? Perhaps it’s not long and drawn out thoughts full of philosophical complexities, perhaps it’s just…Pizza! Oh yumm that’s good, wait oh-no it’s not, eww yuck! Hey look what happened you spit it out! That was funny we laughed a lot, we shared a moment now tell me about it!

This simple exchange, complex or not, the greatest gift that I’ve got isn’t a passion or a job or success or the lot, but a collection of moments not easily forgot. Moments needing boxes of tissues doled out when fear takes a toll when a label rolls out. The fear of parents never hearing their child talk, to pondering life forever never not, to the moments of joy when a word pops out, or when parents beg for mute, be quiet or stop! Moments of stress, chaos and the kids with too much energy to mop up. The falling, the hurting the behaviors destroying, time to care takes its toll with marriages unfolding.

So much to carry I can’t bare it all the only thing I’ve learned that matters at all, is that sharing the burden just means listening to it all, no platitudes no solutions or words of resolve. Just the sitting still listening to the voices of all saying “this is my life” and the realization that we share it all. Our voices collide with fears and falls, the breakthroughs, the pitfalls, the highs and the lows.

Days are hard, progress feels slow, most days it’s a job, not a deeply felt passion. But I’ll take it all for a moment of awakening, the expression of knowing that my voice too sometimes is what’s heard, when a kiddo spontaneously says “Jackie” without a demand or a prompt. It’s the deepest exchange being known to them, I am alive in their story just as they are alive in mine.

Thanksgiving.

A day traditionally celebrated with family and too many courses of food.

A day often layered in obligation for many. A calendar reminder of loss, pain or difficulty. Dealing with drama or forced time with difficult family ties, fights deciding who gets which holiday year after year. Unwelcome reminders of loved ones who’ve gone missing from the table their shadow painting grief instead of joy surrounds the entire table. For some it’s simply not having a table or an invitation to a meal with loved one’s, but the desperate terror of feeling like an unwanted orphan. Or perhaps feeling left out and ostracized from a holiday focused on food that is supposed to be nourishing, but rather equals poisoning due to severe food allergies.

Thanksgiving, a single day with so much power to destroy and take away from the point, is there really thanks given in such a obligated tradition?

I have a table that’s often filled throughout the year with conversation. Friends come over to celebrate, play games, eat nachos and sometimes drink a night away. Other times a single friend or four align a calendar date to sit outside upon the lawn and watch the sun go down. On a Monday or a Wednesday, with monthly Saturdays, I find my life content with friends and a sense of belonging. Sometimes out of towners visit and share a meal or a game of cards. Sitting round the table catching up on micro changes, simply sharing a moment so quickly gone from present to remember when. Family and friends have stayed a night inside my purple guestroom, staying up late to talk through the night wearing our jammies, and other times staying for long, long stretches of time layered up with worry.

I have a home that falls apart and seems to steal all my money. Fixing this and fixing that, man how I wish I was handy. A house to call my home is sometimes a lot more than I bargained for, trying to manage all alone. The pain that it is, and stress that it causes often steals away my joy. I forget to live content with this place I get to call my own. A place where I’ve spent more than a few holidays alone.

I used to have a holiday full of family. The table set for so many, with stuffing, potatoes and a giant sized Turkey. Going round the table one at a time proclaiming something we were thankful for was how we marked thanks giving. The chatter, the laughter, the wine poured out at dinner, the dessert cut up and dished out with no room left to eat it. To the couch we’d all fall out lying in a heap, telling stories of the past or watching football, to playing games like taboo on teams or simply just sleeping. Family was this thing of joy and celebration, and a happy obligation.

Years roll on and life plays games and suddenly people go missing. The table less filled from those who’ve passed on or have moved across the nation. Seperation played its game and holidays don’t feel the same, pressed now with obligation to fill the time and make it breathe like it did before. But how can it sing a song long gone that’s now owned by the past.

Instead of looking so hard at a day and playing comparison, I’ve tried really hard to look away and see the bigger picture. Thanks giving is giving thanks for all the things in my life, not looking for what is missing. Not a single day of thanks that’s forced to feel special because it’s name is holiday, but rather a matter of the heart as a reflection that last for a stretch of time longer than a single day.

I’m thankful for the house I have made into a home, despite financial adversity. A place I’ve filled over time with true intentions of belonging, comfort and inviting. For those who need to have a home for a night or for weeks on end. A place of love that’s welcoming for those I love to unburden themselves with silence, presence, hugs, tears, laughter or simply real conversation.

I’m thankful that most nights I spend here in the quiet, reflecting and content, thankful also for the nights that hurt from the absence of anothers presence.

On a single day like today, overdressed in fancy attire, this holiday has set my table for friendship to share preparing a meal that lasts less than the day. But no matter the plans on a single day I have thanks to give for this life I live. Thankfulness for friends new and old who have left imprints on my heart, living near or far with family who’ve tred along life with me. Thanks to give for the loved ones I’ve lost, their absense filled by memories that shaped so much of my life. Thankful for a home to fill with friends and events throughout the year, and the reminder of perspective that a life is lived throughout the year with moments of feeling belonging, love and friendship on all the boring regular days, so that I’ve something to say to all my friends on a special holiday. I’m thankful for you and your friendship in my life today and every day.

Blackness. Sometimes I feel blanketed in blackness, like a giant picked me up and hid me in his pocket. Life feels far away up off the ground, people and connections paused even though I’m still at home.

Life is busy and full a rapid series of catch up, meeting here and there living by my calendar that’s wide open and often filled, and yet I can’t help feeling it’s old and I’m wishing something was new. I don’t feel lonely, at least not intolerably so. Lonliness has linked up with contentment holding hands inside my shadow. I can’t put my finger on the space that they inhabit, their close knit fingers tie me up in a dull and vacant feeling. I can’t make out just what this is that’s following me around.

Boredom? Being left alone to plan my own entertainment. Weekends bare of plans to connect the dots that got dropped all week long. I long to not go to work, but what do I long for? Is this feeeling from the the future? Calling me up to think further ahead? Am I looking to closely at time, that the future needs some attention? Some crafting or drawing up an outline or two, an empty space is beckoning hey what is there to look forward to? The holidays pressing near obligate me to find something to do with an extra week day no longer bound by the title of work. Am I so off balance?

Have I simply lost balance between life in an office and the joy I chase outdoors? Feeling chained to obligation for a full 40 hours has left me unable to focus on the rest. Chasing friends availablity with an offer of activity shaped with the intent of creativity feels draining to my captivity of winter daylight savings hours, I’ll just stay home it’s to draining given the amount of hours. I don’t want to just fill time, but embellish it. I’ve lost my sense of pull belonging to a circle, shared suggestions and plans dropped off at my door, it seems as though everyone’s already busy and I don’t care enough right now to go it alone. I’m trapped in a circle chasing the sun, where is the muse of zest and inspiration of a life left to just one.

The circles of friends living in orbits feel pushed far out by gravity. Round and round beneath the sun, dinner here a walk there, maybe a plan for next year…no one sticks close enough to be called near and dear. I’m always reaching for a connection, but when I stop it’s still just me. My need to feel belonging and love are dried out and seem unending. I guess bored is a cover up to how I’m actually feeling…unknown. It feels taxing to have an agenda trying to decide what to do, unaccountable to myself, creativity waining.

If I had a boat to put everyone in and cram them all together, my friendships would overwhelm the boat with some overboarding. My life inside the boat would flood perhaps even sinking from the amount of love and affection, spontaneous and deep connections, company that lingers with nothing better to do just sitting still in quality time building roots that dive deep in memories.

Instead I feel those friendships lie strung out across the sky each tied into to their own orbital plane. Whipping round the sun I feel gravity tug and pull them away chasing the sun at their own pace. Some feel so quickly gone it’s only hello-goodbye as they get yanked off toward the sun. Others closer got magnetized to someone else by rotations of proximity, or falling in love with a star they shift orbits slowly moving to match life within someone else’s orbit. I thought my orbit was full, but maybe it only fills on one side of the sun. Maybe it’s just a shift in the list of priority. I no longer fit in others top 10 with the juggling of life, and noticing that mine is lacking a top.

I know I have the truest friends and deep meaningful friendships. Friends to call in emergencies, others to share adventure travel, planning good weather tent trips with. Friends to cry openly with, meet for dinner, go dancing, discuss professional passions and imagine future dreams with. The rich and full of a real life lived shared with the truest kind…but lately I find the moments stay real, but fill longer times spaces marked down on the calendar instead of round the corner. Changing Live sharing of current events to more reporting of what’s new the next time I see you. The here and now feels dropped, does anyone know how I’m feeling? Where’s the space and time to share the nothing?

I don’t know how to change it, I don’t know if it should, if this is simply life and how it feels to be one. Consistency minus frequency over duration of time has summed me up in a contented state of tolerantly dull and lonely boredom. I feel I need to find a boat that fits my true friendships, pull them into a shared orbit of time to rekindle a spark of novelty that fills the blankness of a page. To change the blank into meaning for this part of my story.