i am on my way to where i am going. but first, i will look around and admire where i am.
summer sounds like:
july
i’m growing and the more i grow the more i ache. the things i’m doing now i couldn’t even imagine myself doing three months ago. a friend of mine who’s a new parent once told me that watching her child grow meant that she was in a constant state of happiness and grief.
these days, i am in a constant state of happiness and grief. there is a version of makhela who now only exists in the past and i’m grieving every moments along the way. it was almost a year ago that the thought of driving to minnesota let alone to the west coast sounded so so big and now i’m making plans to travel some more and doing it like it's nothing. baby girl is growing, she’s growing up.
i promised her that i’d remember her. that older version of myself, who cried and grieved and healed. that version of myself who wasn’t ready to leave yet who grew, and nurtured the courage for me to be where i am now. i promised her that i’d remember her, see her in the past, trying. i remember you honey, thank you.
it’s a thursday morning. and it’s the first time i’m able to make a pour over coffee in months. it’s a ritual, a practice. a meditation. i’m trying a new wine this week called skin contact. i miss being touched. i wait for the kettle to boil and zero out the scale for the coffee grounds. i think again of all the things i want to do. all of the things i know i get to do and do badly and do well, and i’m proud. and i search my mind for how i get there and - i feel my feet. i feel where they are standing. i shift my weight back and then forth so my hips move. i feel my toes, my ankles and my knees. i feel my belly grumbling and i whisper to her in my best winnie the pooh voice, i shall feed you soon my sweet.
i’m saving receipts and parking tickets and coffee shop punch cards as souvenirs from my travels. romanticizing every little bit that i can touch, taste and smell. keeping my film camera handy for more treats to look back at later.
somewhere between minnesota and california i stopped keeping score. stopped looking at my list and checking it twice. somewhere along the way i started to let myself be. passionate and loud and enthusiastic about whatever the hell i want to be enthusiastic about.
tuesday 1:49p
i spilled coffee on my shirt and ran out of butter for my open faced toast this morning. i say it’s okay because i’m just going to slather everything in pesto sauce anyway. i woke up earlier today but it didn’t matter because my start to the day was about the same. i make coffee at 2p and drink it. i eat watermelon and stretch. i think about the assignment i got an F on. i got an F. i’m thirty-one years old and i got an F. i giggle and feel rebellious and free…i make a note to email my instructor and beg to resubmit.
i let the cat outside and stand in the sun. the friend on the phone teases me about sleeping in late. i laugh and say “i’m spending the summer in california, sleeping late is mandatory no?”
saturday 2:02p
steps for a successful saturday morning
lady lady by olivia dean on the speaker. lazy french toast (pan toasted cinnamon raisin bread + maple syrup). ice cold water and raspberry tea (one dollop of honey). a breeze through the window that reminds me of fall.
i open the back door and let the cat out, she walks past with a meow.
sunday 11:58a
i’m trying to remember the last time i allowed myself to be a beginner. i miss drawing and coloring and i won’t allow myself to have them. i love drawing the things i can see. like this window cracked open and the tree branches stretching. the potted plant hanging. the slight bend in the blinds.
i can hear the neighbors downstairs laughing. i miss laughing with people, i miss inside jokes and handing a friend the pickle from my sandwich cuz i hate them and she loves them.
i grab my phone and text my nana to ask if she still draws. she thinks i ran away to california to join a cult. she says yes and sends me her recent drawings. i started writing to feel connected to my mother. maybe i’ll get to do the same for my grandmother.
practicing a little radical acceptance with who i am, these days. spent most of my life trying to be someone else. trying to be anyone but who i was right then and there. and maybe that’s been the secret sauce all along that if i’ve worked so hard to practice radical acceptance with other people, then maybe the least i could do is offer it up to myself as well. and maybe i’ll be able to finally put down the shame that i’ve let plague me my whole life.
i sleep til 12, make a coffee and get back in bed. i write for fun and then i write for a class and i remember me, and i remember how to be. and i am grateful for the summer time.
m.
free palestine. free congo, free sudan, free haiti.
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