at this non-goal goal. I believe this is a time for stillness and rest. And yet…
I feel restless in a way that’s rapidly approaching frantic.
I wish I could just enjoy, relax into an ebb tide, let go, float, flow and all those nice hippie things I’m being told to do, both internally and by friends and family. I observe the restlessness without hurling myself into mindless activity, for the most part. It’s f’ing torture, for the record. Settling comfortably into any one phase of life feels unnatural to me. I’m waiting for the next set of changes. I know my dad’s death will be a rough transition for all of us and it makes sense to rest up and not commit to new activities, classes, explorations that will take up more than a little time and energy.
Apparently, sense isn’t my strong suit. Or perhaps it makes more sense to listen to my nature and plunge into a new enterprise, knowing I may need to abandon it when my father’s decline accelerates. My mind is jumbled. I try to stay still until I have clarity, but what if my clarity comes through action, effort, learning, change, new places, people, challenges?



