I keep telling myself to be patient, I keep waiting for it. But here is the truth.
Today was ordinary. Today was okay. Today, I didn't drink enough water, and as a result, had a headache while I was poring over my GED book, squinting, because my glasses prescription is 3 years outdated, and because the contacts I got last year don't work well for me and also because I'm too lazy to put them in everyday. Today, my left knee suddenly decided it was only going to straighten with the accompanying pain that usually follows a long hike, despite the fact that I only walked a mile. (Yesterday.)
Today, I felt like maybe I was rising above the wave of expectations I have raised so far above my head, because, today, I actually accomplished something. It wasn't a mile marker, but it was something, and yet, I can't figure out why I still feel like I'm drowning, flailing in the billows and whirlpools I've created for myself. What was once second nature has become unfamiliar, what I once thought was forever has proved to be sandstone, crumbling under the heavy hand of time and the change that life brings to us all, with or without our consent - and sometimes, even without our knowledge.
Writing has been hard for me lately. My music feels repetitive, as if I am simply playing in circles, forgetting the last composed lines of music until my fingers find the keys again. Those very words - writing has been hard - feel so, so wrong. Writing is the one thing that has always come easily to me, something as natural as that gasping breath that pulls life into your lungs after you come up from under a swell, as familiar as a loved voice reverberating in the shadows of a dream. I bleed onto paper, my soul's blood becoming legible in black ink, becoming tangible, transferring a piece of who I am onto something that can be held in a feather-light grasp.
There is a certain groove my words should fit in, a niche that I discovered after a few thousand struggling sentences, a place where I found comfort, where the words flowed as naturally as a mountain stream in the rocky riverbed where it has always belonged. I am trying to find that again, trying to work through the roadblocks and the discouragement and the weariness that becomes a part of anyone who tries. I am trying to let myself be where I am without feeling like I'm never doing enough, never being enough.
I am trying, learning to be okay with where I am, without settling for stagnancy. Moving forward and learning acceptance and contentedness is a balancing act, but then, I suppose most of life is. Sometimes, there are no wise words to speak, sometimes all songs sound the same, sometimes the faces of those we love only bring us pain, sometimes the most mundane, ordinary day is a process of searching for the missing pieces of a broken puzzle, and realizing that you won't always be able to put it back together. Sometimes, days are just "okay", and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.