No wonder I'm tired. (Are you tired, too?)
No wonder my mind is simultaneously full and empty. (Maybe yours too?)
On Monday I returned from a very quick trip to Florida to celebrate my husband's grandmother's 90th birthday – and to be with her and more family (like Betsy! A reader here, my mother-in-law, and an amazing painter 🎨). I'm glad we went. I know I had mixed feelings about it. I imagine you might also have mixed feelings about flying, family, and mixing the two together. It was my first time on a plane since way back when, pre-pandemic.
Not all of the parts of me have returned from Florida yet. Probably some parts of me have just now arrived in Florida. It'll be a bit until all parts land in the same spot.
I actually still do love the experience of being up in the air, above the clouds, the biggest bird's eye picture of the world I'll probably ever experience – unless I somehow manage a trip to outer space.
Though I can't viscerally recall the last time I was in the presence of that many human beings – in the airports, out and about, at the celebration, with four other beings while sitting in the middle backseat of the car – I don't even remember the last time I rode in a car with more than two other beings (one of them being Ernest, the dog).
No wonder I'm tired.
It's like I just drank a bottle of concentrated juice without watering it down.
And I'm now on the other side of the sugar rush.
If you need a pause, or a nap, or to just not talk for a bit even though everyone around you is... do it.
If you need to step away, to go drink some water, or to go find a body of water that brings some sense of ease to you... take those steps.
I imagine you might have your version of drinking concentrated juice and then needing to drink a bunch of water after.
It's not always possible to add the water before drinking the juice.
Life doesn't arrive in an even keeled tempo. Though, as much as you're able, take in the opportunities to slow, rest, and pause just as much as you take in the opportunities to leap, fly, and plunge.
With gratitude for it all –
Until next time,
Cassandra