Just like that.
Bereft of balance and bathing in chaos, I drone on at a deadly pace, robotic accomplishments, forced effort. I make it, but it's little more than survival. Self criticism creeps in - why isn't this done? Where is your perfection? What is the holdup? Even, where is your flair and charisma?
Then I recall the fury of the past few months; triumphs, exercises, tests, breaking news, milestones, projects, unforecasted storms enveloping entire provinces of my being and realigning everything from it's comfortable place. And I think, it's okay, I can be gentle with myself now, I know. I'm worn, yet not beaten down.
Dali said: "Have no fear of perfection - you'll never reach it." I would have come at that with fists flying a year ago. Now I nod and feel relief wash over my being - relax a little. Survival isn't always enough... but at times, it's a remarkable achievement.
That said, maybe this is humility. Maybe this is being real. None of it is bad, it's all just coming in at warp speed and peeling layers of static away until things are completely raw and new.
I have experienced a new sensation - a pang of wanting something to step in and save me, to intervene on my behalf. Some people look to Jesus for that. All I've got is an exhausted face in filmy mirror... but I'm open to alternatives. Maybe more open, real and alive now than ever.
Then again, maybe not. Maybe I'm just swamped. Change and subjectivity could be life's only constants.
With love, still...
P.S. Because that was way too serious and borderline depressing...