Day three no weed. The discomfort of another unsatisfactory job interview pulses beneath my skin, amplified after crying on the phone to my mom. I look out as the sun dips under the silhouetted Rockies. Pent up energy begs me to expel it. I can’t go on another run so I decide to go for a walk around the neighborhood. Beats slide over my ears and the cascading bubble indicates a successful bluetooth connection. Though my isolation tactics don’t show it, connection is also what I seek.
I opt for a right instead of my usual left. Choosing a direction feels empowering, given the directionless nature of my mid-twenties. The sun is already gone but the sky holds that baby blue-grey glow that promises to prolong a too-short day. Leafless branches punctuate the sky and I’m mesmerized how even without leaves, the magic of trees remains. I imagine that even without the accolades of a conventionally successful life, I might still be worthy of love and adoration.
By the end of my walk, the pep in my step returns. Tribal rhythms lead me through my front door and into my bedroom. I toss a mandala printed shawl over my lamp and swing my feet over the arms of my olive green chair as I melt into it’s familiar embrace. I close my eyes and return to my breath without intending to. A grin steals across my face as I note the subtle signs of growth, progress.
As I type this paragraph, I hold a baby carrot like a cigarette and giggle. I take a slow drag and remember what it’s like to be young, childlike, silly, and free. I tap imaginary ash off the tip before slotting the cigarette between my front teeth and chomping down on it. The carrot’s crunch is forceful and persistent, the only sound I can hear as I chew it to a pulp. That a baby-carrot-cigarette could contain such wisdom and resilience, who would have guessed? I am grateful for life’s unexpected teachers.
Leave a Reply