Falling into place.
If I’m being honest, I've been hesitant to write, waiting for everything in my life to magically align.
I don’t know where this fascination of mine with things falling into place comes from. Much as I’d like it to be, life is not a game of Tetris. I don’t get high scores for fitting all the pieces neatly together before my time is up.
On the bright side, I also don’t get a game over every time I let them pile up and get completely and utterly out of my control. Although sometimes it feels like it.
Realistically, all of life is more of a constant domino, and the final piece falls when you’re no longer around to see it.
Still, maybe there’s a deeper reason behind not writing.
I’m not very good at being happy, to put it plainly. And I’m not good about writing about it either. Much as I’d like to be, much as I’d feel inspired to do so, I… can’t.
I’m really great at planning for it, and I’m told I’m good at giving people advice on how to be happy, or how to be okay with the in-between where most of us live all too often. Or maybe how to see the bigger picture.
Plus, happiness is fleeting. In my case, I’d describe what I feel on a daily basis like a good (however delicate) balance of hope, joy and peace. Amongst the usual less pleasant, yet totally normal human feelings.
But still, some good things are worth writing home about.
For instance, how the way you look at yourself changes as you get older, and I don’t just mean physical appearance. How amazing it feels to share your life with somebody, even (or especially) those parts that you thought would never see the light of day. How deeply reassuring it feels to know somebody has your back, no matter what.
How true it is that relationships (with your partner, your friends, even your family) take work if you want them to last. But that everyone who loves you gladly puts in that work, because they want you in their life. They choose you as much as you choose them.
I guess it’s not that hard putting happiness into words, after all…
There won’t be a day when I wake up without a worry in my head, when my heart won’t ache at the thought that my parents are getting older, that time flies and there’s only so many memories I can still make with them. I know that, and it hurts.
But then gratitude kicks in.
An almost desperate instinct to make the best of out of this present moment, of the life I’ve created for myself, of the people I chose to surround myself with.
Maybe that also comes from decades of living with anxiety, from jumping head-first into the worst case scenario and only when that proved false, to reluctantly explore other, more hopeful outcomes.
Sooo thank you, anxiety?
I wish I could easily slip back into old habits, to writing more and often, but I promised myself I would never force any of this. It will come out when it wants to.
Maybe this is the (re)start.