I concede, of late, I’ve been drowning. Fighting ceaselessly against reckless tides of despair ravaging the optimism I’ve often found to hug my bones.
I cannot speak on where the darkness stems or why its ugly head has reared during times demanding strength and composure. I am altogether exhausted of constantly moving forward and grateful enough to recognise the privilege of being able to do so. There are no doubts in my mind even on my worst day that I am infinitely better off than I have been.
Over a decade ago I learned gratitude is a skill, it’s a quiet subtle art designed to paint the grey around you with flecks of gold. It is to look for beauty amongst even the most mundane things around us. Once found, it serves to prove there is still something in our favour; there is still something to appreciate while everything else is collapsing. An intentional decision to slow down long enough to realise the world isn’t always weighing on your shoulders.
I’ve always found it a point of personal pride, if not belief, in my capacity to just keep going forward. I do so safe in the knowledge that the weight will at some point let up, the tides will calm and things return to a point of equilibrium. Somewhere between my own gargantuan dreams and the life I will work to forge into reality I am reminded how I, too, am not immune to the human condition. And it’s okay to slow down and gather your roses and wait for your hands to rediscover their strength once more.
I couldn’t say when I’ll write next, I should imagine shortly. However, should the need never arise again – remember I gave as much I could to God and left it in His hands and safely peace once more. All the while I picked up pens and papers to scribble this down long enough to find a little peace. I have come this far, who am I to question how much further I will be carried? We walk in faith, always.
poeliticaljazz 