What stirs in my heart?
Maybe it’s everything. How does anyone not live a day without wandering in and out of the things they used to believe in and the people they used to be?
I often mourn parts of my life where I had less responsibility. More uncertainty, no doubt, but does getting older ever give you any certainty that you’ll become a better person? Or that the things in this world will ever be enough for you?
This quarantine has given me some perspective on my small space here. I found myself dumping loads of things from my past. A few pictures. Some books. Even the things I have found sacred in the past, I’ve dug up again to be both inspired and challenged.
It is a great unsettling of things.
It’s weird when pieces of your old self reappear and almost with a sense of urgency ask that you remember this piece of you that shifted the way you see everything.
I keep a small shelf with things from my life — things that were given to me by people I love, people who broke my heart and others who give me the most inspiration to push forward regardless of the gravity that pulls me elsewhere.
I found myself rearranging these heirlooms. These precious bits of a life 34 thus far.
A matchbox with the face of Che Guevera.
A metal cup from my time in India.
A feather from a friend I used to kiss and fall asleep on the grass with long ago.
Some toys from when I was young.
My old pair of glasses, broken.
Fountain pen and some ink.
I keep these things because they help me remember that every good thing shifts in you endlessly.
The bad too, but those things tend to dull over time.
I’m always amazed about how the things that broke our hearts into a million pieces still allow us to feel good about the time we had with them that were beautiful, and that they gave to us what we would have never found without them.
Sometimes you need the person you once were to step up and meet the person you are now. I know I look older by the day, and I often cringe at what I used to call a beard. Now, I still don’t grow the best looking beard, but I see the grey hair that comes with life and its weight.
I have little regret, but deep down in the still waters I know this whole thing is a gift. I embrace the challenge of wandering through this life with the knowledge that it’s not ever easy, and things that matter won’t ever happen quickly.
Sometimes being unsettled is the only way to move forward,
and I will always set my eyes there,
toward both the dying and birth of the new light.