I struggle. Silently struggling is my jam. The highs and lows of this year have been taking their toll and I was reminded last week that I don’t always have a healthy way to deal with stress in my life.
The conversation went something like this:
J: Are you stressed?
Me: I was born stressed.
J: I’m sure you have healthy ways of dealing with stress.
Me: I’m pretty sure that I am not using a lot of the healthy ways of dealing with stress. Also, sharing time is over.
J: Well, that’s why we have God.
Me: (I should say something)
Last night I received a text about the beautiful sunset. I had been planted on the inflatable sofa for hours of binge-watching Netflix, so I figured a pretty sunset might be enough reason to get up. I looked outside. Yeah, I suppose that’s a cool-looking sunset, I thought. Then, another text arrived suggesting I get in my car and get a better look from the highway. So, I did. That’s when I realized I had looked the wrong way. I had looked East. Wow. Once the sky turned my head, I just started driving in that direction so I could see it longer. I kept driving down the highway, seeing the brilliant colors and bizarre cloud patterns. I was mesmerized and also hoping I would not wreck the car as I was looking at the sky. I needed to find a spot to sit and just take it all in. So, I went to church. I drove West, and time was running out. The colors started to fade, the reflections on the clouds were disappearing. Hurry, there is a sign and you’re going to miss it! As I do when I feel lost or late, I drove faster. I will see this sunset and it will be meaningful, dammit! I sat in the church parking lot with a full view of the western sky. I watched the end of the vibrant blues, purples, pinks, oranges turn to pale yellows and grey as the horizon gulped up the sun.
As I drove home, my mind was buzzing with ideas and thoughts and a desire to write and discover the meaning of this sunset, this sign. Then, the shutdown sequence began. It’s too much. It will just be random words that don’t make sense. I can’t. So, I didn’t.
Today, I’m home with more repairmen in the house fixing more broken stuff in my beloved broken space, so here I sit. To quote another summer repairman, “Ma’am, your shifter is broken. It has shorted-out.” Ah, there it is. Yes, change displeases me. My shifter perhaps has always been a little shorted-out. Go see the sunset, he said—and I looked east. My compass is off. My shifter is broken. My space is in need of repair.