flow (and SAD).

Perhaps it’s the overexertion but my anxiety has hit me with it’s same familiar rhythms it once did cycles ago. I was with a colleague the other day and they reminded me that the nature of grief is such that it never truly changes, yet the vessels for it are the things that transform. The hole and space that covers is just as it was. The voices, return as if they never left. Yet I take comfort in the flow of all things, and that in the natural ebbs of the season such feelings will slowly come to pass.

The reality perhaps is that as the days get shorter, so does perhaps my fuse with things that rub me the wrong way. We start clambering for things that keep the flow in cycle and to slow the acceleration back through cognizant breaks in reality, that we forget that perhaps it is less about the doing than it is the understanding of the peace that keeps us through the process. The peace that comes not in the band-aid solutions of the spaces that find us, but of the reality that all of us, within each of our situations are doing the best that we can and that the best is perhaps the most we can afford.

The holidays have always been the biggest times for reflection and often the greatest spaces for despair, yet as with all things what we imagine often is far more terrifying than what will be. I choose perhaps out of habit, than a desire to actively seek it, the small tender moments that keep my heart alive. The tender feelings will never go away no matter how much I grow, and perhaps it is something worth celebrating, because we have found the things worth holding grief for.