The Way We Sometimes Uproot Ourselves
Even when the tide of the past has ebbed, it still returns. Not as powerful as it once was, perhaps. But things don’t need to be powerful to be devastating. Sometimes, the quiet whisper from the dark is enough to stop us in our tracks, pull us from one moment and fling us backward.
Sometimes, things heal—and we no longer harbor a broken heart. But sometimes, too, the heart aches when it rains. When the wind shifts. When we are reminded of how we felt, the ghost of it, lingering on the outskirts of the present.
It’s not always bad feelings that reemerge like this, but that’s what I’m speaking on. The little resurrections of darkness that cling with razor-sharp claws, newly sharpened teeth—the old and the new, blended together in a single in-drawn breath.
I’m someone who fully commits to people. You need cheering up? You need an ear? A hug? A small joy surprise in the mail? Chances are, I’ll pick up on it and find a way to make you smile. I’m someone who runs toward, when others might not. Because feeling alone when things are hard is the actual worst.
I have no regret or hesitation about being full-hearted. Those who love me never want me to be less and appreciate me as I am, in all my human-Muppet ridiculousness. But there have been times, years past, where the opposite has been true—and those moments are kind of crystalized bits of ache. Not a broken limb, not anymore. But the ache shows up, now and again.
And it’s a reminder of many things. How far I’ve come. How strong I am. What I will and will not tolerate. And I’m proud of myself for that. Growing as a person is hard, sometimes. Anyone who tells you differently is probably startlingly unfamiliar with themselves as a person.
These days, I run full tilt into who and what is there with open arms. Kindness and sweetness and care and love—these are things we can all use more of, especially these days. There are things in the world I cannot fix. There are situations I cannot mend or solve or make disappear. But I can offer sweetness and softness and steadiness. And when I get the same in return? That’s its own kind of magick.
You are capable of magick, kittens. Ordinary magick, perhaps. But that is a matter of perspective. And what is magick if not a wish spirited out into the world, with hope for wings?
And yes, the past sometimes waltzes back into the room, ill-fitting and unwelcome. Sometimes, it echoes in the unexpected moment. A bad houseguest in your own heart.
In those moments, breathe. Reach for joys. Move toward things that make you feel safe—people too. You’ll find your footing again. You’ll find your roots.
It’s spring, after all. A time where things grow.
Some Bits and Bobs
I recently finished reading Deanna Raybourn’s Kills Well With Others, and I cannot recommend it enough. So good. So funny. Smart. A thrillride for sure.
If you’re looking for Easter candy, snag some from Sweet Day! There’s even an Easter mix. (It’s delicious.)
I have two new poems out in April—one at Dream Theory Media (“Rhiannon Remembers Her Own Name”) and one at Small Wonders (“Let It Be Your Call”). I’m very proud of both of them, and I can’t wait for you to read them!