My girl is playing on the floor of the cafe. She is building something, immersed in her own world.
Today is declared as a “Yes Day” with a €50 budget and a tidy house at the end.
I don’t need to decide anything. If she wants, she’ll let me know.
People happily chatting around us. The sun is shining. There’s nothing for me to do.
And yet, I can’t let go. Tightness in my belly, my mind scanning all the todos that might have been missed. Pressure in my head. Anxiety travels on my skin.
“Can we go to the Library now?” she asks. “Yes we can,” I answer.
I’m perched on a beanbag, she has her nose dip in a book. After a rollercoaster of a week I am tired. But rest is unfamiliar. So much of my identity is tied to doing: creating, cooking, supporting, fixing, helping, building, reading, writing, connecting, imagining.
So much that rest sends my system into high alert. I know – it doesn’t add up. A nasty loop.
But, not for long.
Because I’ve been getting ready for an adventure – for exploring the unknown.
My bag is packed for the long road:
Two litres of compassion, and another litre of tears.
A flashlight and a candle for the dark nights. A list of people to call when I reach the valley of doubt.
A small notebook (blank), black ink pen, watercolour pencils & a couple of brushes. And a large paper sheet for drawing a map of the territories I will find.
“Where to next?” I ask. “I still don’t know,” she answers.
I let a long breath out.
“Not knowing is totally fine,” I say.
I lay my head back.
