I am in an airport.
It is late and the stores are closed.
I am tired, so tired. And I have two hours to go before my red-eye takes off.
I have a bit of a sore throat, and am exhausted all through my back and shoulders. I just finished four really intense, but so-satisfying, bordering-on-joyful days at work.
New new responsibilities and new teams, new ideas, so much energy and enthusiasm for all we are envisioning, and now the freedom to race ahead and build it together.
I am so tired, but this is my favorite, favorite feeling in the world: seeing what wasn’t there before, explaining it to others, feeling them capture the potential and bring to it their own touch and taste, being the agent of release for talent, and being seen for the grounded, creative, enthusiastic, encouraging person I know I am…..
I read the post I wrote here just before this one, and, again, I am forced to marvel at how very hard it is to stay open to what’s coming, even when you don’t know it’s there.
No, I am not moving to Garrison. No, I am not leaving my overcrowded apartment. Yes, I am back in fulltime swing of a more-than-fulltime job, no more working at home for me. My son is doing well, even though he has troubles. My boyfriend and I are letting go of our big plans and are instead living in what we have for the moment. And it all feels really good, right now. And right now is all we have, all we have, all we have.
I will never stop wanting to draw a perfect circle of stasis around myself, even though I know those few minutes or days of thinking I know what I’m doing—and the sense of calm, orderly destiny it brings—is a cardboard cutout, instead of the glimmering, shifting hologram life really is.
But I try to think of it this way: When I grab life with my two hands, the hologram disappears and I am left holding nothing, bereft. When I let life move around me and flow through me, I have moments of brilliance and joy and rightness.
Even when I am sick.
In an airport.
Waiting for a red-eye.
And still, here, in a late-night airport, surrounded by so much antiseptic white and empty, I feel full, full, full.