Sorry I’ve been MIA. Life got busy fast in the last two weeks. My husband started a new job, we went out of town, celebrated a birthday, and then my mom came to visit.
And honestly, I haven’t felt much like pulling my thoughts together lately. Most of the time I just let them shift and spiral however they please, occasionally punctuated by planning the manuscript I’ve been working on since graduating college.
I’m hoping that I can get myself back on track in the next few days because I very much want to write about the series I mentioned last time, The Redo, and how much it meant to me. If you haven’t checked it out yet, do it! It’s not too terribly long and you won’t regret it.
Anyways, I did write a post for my Facebook that I thought I’d share here to bridge the gap. Hope you like it.
“It’s incredible how affected I am by other people’s emotions. There were people shouting outside the library and though there’s a wall of glass separating me from the argument, their muted voices still caught my attention. It made my heart thump wildly and my stomach clench in anticipation, of what I don’t know. My hands began to sweat as my head ping ponged back and forth across the parking lot, watching the arguers retreat in opposite directions as library security moved them along.
Moments later the atmosphere around the library was just the same as it was before, all quiet scribblings and page turns, the occasional cough, the whispered conversations between patrons and staff.
But the atmosphere in my head had changed. Though the conflict had died down, it was still very much alive inside my mind, inside my body. It’s like I absorbed the tension and strife through the crisp fall air, through the concrete and glass and paper backs, through my blue cotton hoodie, the t-shirt my husband gave me last Christmas, and right into my waiting heart.
Eventually I retreat to a secluded patio, a concrete wall separating me from a view of the street and glass doors keeping the other library patrons at bay. My earbuds blast music probably too loud for the public setting, but the wailing guitars and familiar drum beats help chase away the remnants of discord left by people who weren’t even aware that I was watching.
I let the sun warm me until it starts to burn through my black jeans, let the ambient sounds of traffic fill the silence between songs, and try to remember who I was ten minutes ago when I was just planning out my weekend.
More than anything I want to flip the switch on my sensitivity, to take advantage of my ability to be so deeply moved by the joy of others. I ache to bubble up with laughter and overflow with happy tears at the sight of old couples flirting in public or parents indulging the curiosity of their young children or strangers interacting kindly on the street.
Some days, heck many days, my sensitivity is a blessing that breaks down the walls between our isolated experiences of this universe and allows your jubilation to flow right into my soul. But the discontent, the aggression, the terror and malice creep in too and make themselves at home.
And somehow, whether I like it or not, I’ve become landlord to the fluctuating vibes of the world.”