When I feel the way I feel right now,
I wish for, the ocean,
I crave being unknown and anonymous.
I crave being seen and heard.
Dinner with strangers in small outdoor café’s with momma’s behind the counter, proud.
I desire for lanterns that give just enough light to see clearly, I wish to be around tables with people that will tell me their stories with honesty and their hands.
I wish for fog, that burns into sun, sun that burns into night. Nights that end around old farm style tables. Cold beer. Red Wine. Fresh bread.
I wish to reach across the table and hold someone’s hand.
I wish to laugh till I cry.
I desire to cry with others, to say things to more free than the breaths we are taking now. I wish for the truth to say out loud together, ‘we could be breathing deeper than this. How can I help you breathe deeper?’
I wish for deep breaths and fresh air.
I wish to never lock my door. For an old jeep with the keys on the dash. I wish for the sound of waves, always.
I crave wood, and brick, and natural light.
The things that stop me, when I’m on my way, have me pull over to the side of the road.
Are old barns.
Women painting on the side of the road with delicate, knowing strokes.
Women painting old barns on the side of the road.
I crave deep conversations around fires.
I crave luxury, cable-knit, abundance, and opportunities. I crave these words, and I crave them deeply ‘I believe in you.’
I wish for languages I don’t understand, yet.
I wish to understand the language I do know. The power of words.
Dances I don’t know, but will. Dances I will teach others. Just like me. Who’ve come to seek, learn, to be wild and free.
I wish for the trust to be given the secrets to the back roads, and the view I must see.
Maps handed over counters with milestones circled. A coca cola classic in a glass bottle. A Sunday. The persons hand who I cant stop holding. The person who cant stop holding my hand, a fellow explorer, life-seeker, someone who is kind to strangers, who laughs loud and often, someone who knows there’s so much more than this. With me.
I wish to look in the rearview mirror and see Moose with a buddy.
I wish to be lost, but to be home to get into my own bed at night, curled into you and the way your breath feels on the curve of my shoulder.
I want to wake up just before you and trace the outline of how much I love you so I never ever forget. I want to crave the sound of your voice, and feel safe in the first thing you say to me each morning.
I crave deeply to make a difference.
I am afraid when too many days go by and I feel that I haven’t.
I am afraid when my conversations turn to the surface and leave me depleted. I am afraid when the invitations that arrive are for the ordinary. I am afraid to go to ordinary places, and in equal measure, I am afraid to be alone. I am afraid that I’ll never find where, there is both.
I crave family, and little ones, and partnership. But I know that if I was really ready, I’d have that. What I do have is a life that continues to be…well, I don’t really know. I can say I don’t want safety, but then, I’d make different choices. But I feel more ready…I think? I look too often outside of me to know. And I take my stand of solidarity for too much proof, that I am meant to be alone. I am always looking for a reason why I am holding no ones hand. I’ve spent many years saying it doesn’t matter. And now I know, it does. And so. I’m paying attention.
I crave to be close enough to take someone’s picture. Laugh lines, and joy. Tragedy, and triumph. I want to know how you got here. I want you to teach me something. For immediate trust. To see and be seen. Mostly, I want to celebrate.
I know I am a connector. I know secrets spill over to me across miles, and tables, and walks down the street. I am huddled with people I love dearly, I am huddled with strangers. In a Catholic School confessional booth. People say things to me, they would only ever say with a wood panel between, and the ability to go home after. I will not give you 30 hail mary’s to say, I will remind you that you are full of grace, I will instead ask you the questions you need to hear to remember you are not alone. And in this. I’ll remember too, because I am always always fighting this.
Often, I desire, I wish for, I crave, and am afraid, in the space of just one breath. I am all those things, and I wonder, if you are too. My favorite people, the ones I wish were at my table each night, are the ones most honest about how life hurts. And how life is beautiful. And how life is.
My desires and my fear seem to be in contradiction, often, and this makes me feel crazy. So I get outside and I met by a foggy morning, and everything that has color, has so much more color, that I can see, because of the grey. And I am relieved.
I am just like this Sunday morning.
Foggy & Moody.
I am the backdrop of which you can see your color.
I am a longing stare at my passport, and a longing feels so very much the same, right here in this kitchen.
I am both.
When I write like this, I don’t know that you’ll see yourself in this. I think that you will. But, you likely wont endorse my confusion, I’ve been writing long enough to know. And that’s okay.
I write to get my deep breath back.
I write to get out of the fog.
I write to affirm that everything I need is already here.
I write remember that what I wish, desire, crave, and fear.
I am a slow, foggy Sunday.