PSST! Rantings, Musings, & "Not Your Mama's" Platitudes

https://theurbanmermaid.blogspot.com/2024/09/question-air.html?m=1 This poem is written by my dear friend, Emily Lisker. 

“I hope this week stirs something deep within you. May the answers you couldn’t see before now rise to the surface like whispers of truth breaking through the fog of uncertainty, and may you find the courage and clarity to bring them to life, to nurture them with intention and let them guide your path forward. I hope your heart finds balance, not by the weight of who you’ve been or the stories that you’ve carried but by the truth of who you are becoming, the truth that anchors you in the present and propels you towards the future. I wish you strength, both in body and spirit and the resilience to weather the storms you may face. May you stand firm in your values, even when life pulls you in many directions. I wish you grace to remain present in the here and the now, even when the pull to drift away feels so very strong. I hope you are reminded of your inner strength, of the power within you that grows with every challenge you face. May you find peace knowing that the journey ahead is u

I just learned that dragonflies lay their eggs in bodies of water. The larvae swim out of the lakes, ponds, streams where their eggs were laid and climb up a nearby tree trunk or limb where they latch on to unhatch into fully grown dragonflies. Somehow they know exactly what they need to do to survive, and they do it. They don’t wonder if it’s the right time to exit the water, if they will be eaten, if the weather will be right. It just happens. Maybe I need to let things happen and stop overthinking them to death. Or maybe that’s the problem. Maybe letting things happen is what has brought me here. Maybe more discipline, more thought is required. Maybe my brain will explode. Maybe all we can do is just keep going. 

I feel like I’m running a race toward the finish line but I get to the end and there is no finish line there is a teacup and a block of cheese and a screwdriver and suddenly my throat is filled with silt and I am blinded by gusts of confetti and all I hear is what were you thinking you knew better so I fall to my knees and search for the last time I was loved, truly loved and my mind races flips through files until it reaches the last one which contains only one page with one word written on it in black Sharpie: begin

Imagine you wake up with a second chance: The blue jay hawks his pretty wares and the oak still stands, spreading glorious shade. If you don’t look back, the future never happens.  How good to rise in sunlight, in the prodigal smell of biscuits— eggs and sausage on the grill.  The whole sky is yours to write on, blown open  to a blank page. Come on, shake a leg! You’ll never know who’s down there, frying those eggs, if you don’t get up and see. 

It was a long week. I’m exhausted. I’m sad. I’m trying to learn how to be casual, not too deep. Trying to fit where others want me. I give so much that I leave myself empty. And that’s not me. We do stupid things for love. Sometimes I wonder if I am incapable of it. If I am so full of anger and regret and pain. I’m good at pretending, but when the sun sets and the curtains are closed, I am left with what is real. What is tangible. What is within me. And I don’t want to see it anymore. It conflicts with the entire world around me. I am stuck between living the most elaborate lie ever told and being utterly alone in this world. I am so tired. 

On Sunday I had a great urge to be outdoors. It was September 1st, and I think subconsciously my entire body KNEW it was Autumn. I really don't know when the first day of autumn actually is, but I do know my body and brain are ready. Six or seven years back, I went through a hiking phase. I visited as many waterfalls and hiking trails as physically possible on the weekends. I visited places here, in SC, drove to GA, NC, and TN, sometimes leaving as early as 3am to drive 5 hours or more to hike 12-13 miles. I was physically fit and strong and felt like I could do absolutely anything. I think part of me wants those same feelings now, in a different time and space than I was those years ago. So I got in the car and drove toward the mountains. I wanted to see Wildcat Wayside Falls—I knew it was easily accessible and wouldn't require strenuous exertion. I needed to build myself back up to it. I passed the roadside entrance and continued up the mountain, following GPS. I knew GPS was