Day 10: Love of my life.

How does one go about forgiving?

How do we go about our days, remembering all of the hurtful things that someone said to or about us?

There are a million things that I took so long to grow into about myself.

Awkward, uncomfortable, and constantly searching for where it was that I fit.

I can certainly say that it took trial and error to find my passions-and they weren’t in anything that made me monetarily rich..but all of the in-betweens.

If someone could show me an occupation for the small moments, thoughtful gifts, and attention to detail..I’d be rich.

In a way, I realize that I am rich because of these things.

But, I’d be lying if I never expected to wake up and find myself going about my days racking my brain wondering what the perfect ratio of coffee to creamer to almond milk is the right one.

So, instead I simply avoid my coffee machine.

When I go to play golf, I immediately preface it with the possibility of my being slow and then say “please let me know if you need me to just pick up”.

Or when I go to work, I immediately tell people that sometimes I cough or because of allergies-but also because I have anxious ticks-that I am so very aware of, but that sometimes I can’t control them.

When I get ready to go out, I stare at the mirror and wonder if I’m good enough to be claimed.

When I get anxious, or upset-I immediately withdraw-because I am always afraid that “right now” just isn’t convenient.

I never thought I’d find myself once again jailed by the very things I’d once felt proud of.

I loved making breakfast for the people I loved, making their coffee, and surprising them with it.

I always believed that if you started your day with kindness (along with food and coffee) you were unstoppable.

I found pride in making things just the way people like them, because attention to detail was something not everyone noticed.

You like your eggs this way? Noted.

You like your coffee not quite hot? I get it.

When I learned to play golf, I realized that attention to detail was key.

Take a look at your hole, look at the yardage, look at the obstacles, plan your shots, but also plan for when your shots don’t go well, and ultimately get to the flag.

I thrived in taking a look at slope, the conditions, the course scenery, the way the ball would rest on different lies, the way the green would run, and how well I played.

I could lose myself in the game, over and over again-much like the way I looked at life.

The strategy took time, and that was okay.

Good things always took time.

The thing is, there is so much beauty in each part of our days..and I wanted to see the beauty in every moment-much like savoring a fresh, buttery croissant, cracking the creme brûlée, or the first sip of a Chardonnay-or even the second when its warmed up a little.

Soft fingers on skin in the mornings, tracing eye lashes, eyebrows, lips, and smile lines.

Every moment savored, taken in, quietly noted and cataloged.

So, how do we go about life when all of these things have lost their “savory” characteristics?

When the way you go about life is no longer good enough for the person that you simply want to spend every day with?

When that someone rejects the very things that fill your heart with warmth, happiness, and pride?

But, you love that someone anyway.

So, instead of fighting with them you fight with that something inside of you.

You quiet it, push it down, banish it to a corner-and you try to twist it into something that it isn’t, and you tell it that it’s fucked up, that what you’re feeling is wrong-that it’s just “chemistry”, that it is problematic and exhausting.

That life is EASIER when you don’t take so much time paying attention to the little things, and soon you don’t know what love is anymore-for yourself, for life, or anyone else for that matter.

How did the things that made life so beautiful, and eye opening become the very things I loathed about myself?

I wish today I had the ability to answer my own questions for you, but instead find myself pausing to see a cute black and white face, that is readjusting his head on my pillow at just the right time-almost as if to tell me that I am good enough, and he loves me no matter what-even if I don’t fully love myself or life anymore.

One day, I will find comfort in these small moments again.

I see glimpses of them, and I am starting to taste my food again, but still the self-doubt creeps out..and there I am tripping over what to say, ticking, and just rushing through life.

I hope we can slow, and I hope your coffee is just to your liking.

I hope every moment is as perfect in its imperfections as it possibly can be, because as much as I want to fight it-it means everything to me.

I am everything in between, and I will one day be okay with that again.

One day, I will forgive myself.

-A