Where, oh where, is my blog post? I’ve looked upstairs and downstairs. I’ve looked on the bike path and in the bathtub. I looked in the closed loop of indecision and the holes in the left knees of all of my jeans, in the newly rearranged girls’ bedroom with its rush of energy, in the fridge with its wilted lettuce and days-old black beans, just on this side of stinky. I’ve looked in the DVD player and the ipod and the voice mail and the email and the mailbox and in the depths of my purse with its bubble gum wrappers and goldfish crumbs and ATM receipts and ancient lists. I’ve looked in the spreadsheets I’ve spent months compiling of our monthly finances, and in the Yoga Journal magazine that sits by the toilet, where I sit and imagine that I am doing yoga and wonder if looking at pictures of other people doing yoga has some kind of vicarious benefit. I’ve looked in my mother-in-law’s house and my parents’ house and my sister’s house and my neighbor’s house and the treehouse at the end of our street with the zip line that used to thrill us. I’ve looked on the College Street Shuttle and in the tree tunnel and in our rust-stained ’96 Camry and in the New York Times Styles section and under the dog bed and in the latest, greatest tax return. I’ve looked in Eat Pray Love and on the Lower East Side and in parenting classes and on ferry crossings.
I’ve been talking to the Universe and actually getting a response, lightning quick and rhinestone flashy. It works.
What was it I was looking for again? Wait, I think maybe I found it. Everything I need is right here, for now. It really is always now. And everything comes right on time. Trust, trust, trust this, the voice in my head tells me. Trust it. No battles. You will fly.