I’m starting to feel claustrophobic. Always do this time of year. I thought this year should be different, but no. There’s some comfort and a lot of disappointment in that. The comfort lies in coming to understand that this pain stems from some chemical something. My heart is full, so it’s not a personal flaw. But it is. But it isn’t. The disappointment is wondering if I will ever know the peace of “good enough” for more than a few moments at a time. One day I will break through and revel in the space of ease and abundance that flows through my life without the snickering of voice #3 furiously shoveling to undermine the beauty around me, the work I’ve done or torturing me to do more, faster and more efficiently. One day we will go away, my family, to play on a warm beach for months at a time without threat of homelessness and roam through the mountains at our leisure and not worry about starvation or being bound to a desk, a phone, a computer…an ideology that serves only to imprison us….though I’ll always love being bound to writing.


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