Reflections in Personal Growth

Today I complete a year of walking daily, and tracking 10k steps. For some, this is not a big deal. It is, for me. For me it is affirmation that I am capable of prioritizing self-care. It is confidence that I can start something and stick with it. It is courage that I can overcome obstacles and figure my way out. It is pride that I inspire/guilt/shame others into taking care of their health.  The odds are stacked against me. I work a full-time job, a somewhat stressful one at that, and I work hard at it. I had just moved countries, from a cushy life of having a cook - maid - car cleaner plus a myriad of time and labor-saving apps, to a country where we have to cook, clean, shop, drive, and do everything in between. Not to mention our family, including a teenager and a soon-to-be one, trying to settle into a new life.  I can go into the why - the raison d'etre - for this change, or the what - the hundreds of Rubik's cube moves to get to the right position, or the how - the mecha

I need a holiday Day after day of  Not worrying  Not doing Not thinking Just feeling Just being Just existing

  Empty train tracks, winding away A sense of nostalgia, a fond memory Of l ooking forward to something, but leaving behind something familiar The incline gi ving Wellesley Hills its name that is imperceptible while driving around Presenting as a gigantic green wall The sharp drop of a man-made cliff The clouds gathering through the warm, humid day Dark and intimidating in demeanor Waiting and watching for the right moment To let go of pent up angst Each one of these elements Noteworthy of their own Presenting in a single frame Too tempting to let go.

  She was taught the power of binary in code. Yes or no, True or false, To be or not to be. Love fiercely, or not at all. So she loved fiercely. Most of the time. With one exception. She didn't know. When it came to loving herself, she didn't know how. She knows she needs to love herself, she doesn't know how.

The endless scrolling didn't get her what she craved Nor did the hundred abandoned online carts Her Spotify playlist was unsatisfying The fridge didn't give her the icecream she needed. Air rushes to fill a vacuum, said science. They were not talking about the abyss in her mind.

  Why do I write? All that needs to be said has already been said. By better writers and better human beings. Much more eloquently and with much better restraint. Why do I write? When I cannot adequately express with words What I experience with deep emotions and big feelings. When neither thought nor expression has any consequence. Why do I write? When what you see, read, hear and experience moves your soul, You are but a paper boat in a flood, a briquette in an avalanche Camphor in a forest fire, a chair in an earthquake. I have a duty to be consumed, it's futile to resist. Rational objections are no object, bad puns not withstanding. I write because there simply isn't another alternative.

Squirrels breed during winter/ early spring. The tiny little squirrels with barely bushy tails frolic about in the yards. Then they grow up under the watchful eyes of the adults. It's May and they are still tiny, but have grown up a bit. With tails as long as their body, they run across yards, venturing out in a larger radius. Come June, and the adventurous are out to explore. They test the asphalt on the road, that's easy peasy. They get to a busy road, they get stumped at the yellow line. Is it ok to step on, do I have to step over? Will it hurt me? Those few moments of indecision prove fatal. Is it the Darwin-ic survival of the fittest, that it didn't have what it takes to survive? Was it Icarus-esque, that it dared to fly too close to the sun? Was it the car driver whose efficient brain assumed the squirrel would cross at a certain pace? Or was it the system that was stacked against the squirrel? That it didn't not provide the scaffolding that it needed till it

The trees have shed their leaves in anticipation.  Naked and vulnerable, and ready to receive. The birds have flown south, the escapists. The insects are just gone, the fair-weather friends. The rabbits and squirrels, teeming around when warm, have retreated. Ready to rest and recover. And reproduce.  The sun is out there doing its thing - it doesn't care.  The earth though, has tilted away from its gaze, fearful and timid. Or is it boundaries? It is July and I long for winter. For the cold that forces you to feel when everything feels numb. For the stillness outside that quells the noise within. For the darkness that is comforting in its encompassing embrace.  Who are the birds, the insects and the rodents in your life? Where are the trees that need time in the sun and need to shed to receive? What are you running away from? What are you protecting yourself from?