scijessreads

In a storm of changes, some things remain steadfast.

The background chatter and life of a coffee shop. My iced drink sweating beads onto the paper wrapping of what used to be a pumpkin chocolate chip scone. Crumbs are left. My fingers typing quickly and making many typos as my brain works faster than my hands in transferring words to screen.

Home being a refuge that I am constantly rearranging, adding to, and removing clutter from. It is maximalist cozy fantasy library. Everything has a place, and everything that is in there has been collected. Curated. Made to fit the eclectic mix of nature and whimsy and soft. It has been made for snuggling and blankets and candles. Hygge, but not quite so Scandinavian.

My body being a space to take ink. Adding to the story of my life in black and white drawings, permanent reminders of things that I love.

There are moments, truly, where I can gelt lost in the memories and feel pangs of regret and guilt. I’m working through those in therapy. But I’m also rediscovering that my soul craves routine, however simple. A moment of grounding in a life that is more stress and chaos than I would like right now.

I think the power blinked out in our last round of rain, because when I woke up before the sun (not hard to do these days, even without my internal clock deciding that 3am is a perfectly reasonable time to be awake) I only heard quiet. The steady whine and hum of the fans that run every day during the oppressive summer heat gone quiet.

I forgot what quiet felt like. And in that moment of waking I realized that I missed it, too. So many times I leave background music on. Some sort of noise. To drown out my thoughts? Maybe. Because it became a habit? Also maybe.

Leaning into the quiet, I took my coffee to the patio this morning. Sat outside with nothing but the dark 5am sky and game of Wordle. Taking a moment for myself, before having to tackle the myriad of things that come with it being a Sunday. A day to frantically prep before the workweek.

Tonight, I think I might continue to find a moment. To sit in the quiet and journal at my new writing desk. To reestablish who I am as I slowly start to emerge from what has been a cloud of grief and anticipation and processing feelings. So many feelings. Learning empathy for myself in the process of learning how I approach memories and nostalgia and moving on. Honoring who I was, who I had, and carrying the love of those lost with me, but not letting it weight me down. Instead, turning it into a light that can guide me, remind me that the darkness is not endless and that an ending isn’t necessarily the end.