I’ve started this post three times. Can’t decide what to write about. There’s so much happening in my life right now that is not suitable blog material, and part of me relishes the challenge of still coming up with stuff to put out there into the ether, the airwaves, wherever it is these words go when I hit the blue “publish” button.
I made one of my favorite dishes for dinner tonight, the first time this summer: tomato, basil, olive oil, and goat cheese tossed with pasta. I had thirds and then mopped my plate with challah.
After three days of heat stroke, it finally rained today. I swam in the 88-degree water of the neighborhood pool with the girls before heading out for a run, soaking wet, music close in my ears. I ran down Pearl Street and across town and up the steep hill, sweat pouring, literally pounding the pavement, singing out loud, eyes closed, not caring who saw or heard. I ran hard and fast. I ran to stand still, I ran to stay with myself, I ran to release, I ran to honor my body, the wild horses that stampede through my heart kicking up so much dust sometimes I’m left choking. I ran cursing the air, quoting lines from movies you would surely recognize, ran tears and sweat and rain running together down my cheeks, my chest, my belly, arms, legs. I ran to settle, to access some deep well of breath, to get a groove, a rhythm, some beat that could steady my own heart.
Then I slowed down, to a jog, a walk down the block, back to the warm-bath of a pool, all the kids and parents gone now, dinnertime, jumped back in and sank deep towards the bottom, holding myself there for a moment before rising to the surface.
There is so much more, so much I want to write, so many images swimming behind my eyes. But V and Pearl just put on a Gillian Welch cd, they’re eating their oreos and then bedtime beckons and the blue button beckons and so much beckons and I practice staying with myself, trusting, letting my own heart, my own breath be the pallet where I find rest.