Here we are at the end of the day and what do I have to say?
There is a false peace here, an unintentional false peace, for if I had what I sought, it would be real peace? The holidays always stir my very last emotion, always seem to be filled with angst no matter how much I try for acceptance, for allowance, for breathing.
This Thanksgiving will be our last here on our property. It is bittersweet as we turn the page and begin a new chapter, a new story. I am feeling the pressure of making it a wonderful day. My son will be leaving shortly afterward to begin a job at the Grand Canyon. His life calls him there and I am not sure when I will see him again. Maybe not for a year but we won't talk about that right now. Two weeks from Thursday, we close on our house and begin the process of moving from here to there.
I tried to pack up a bookcase today. My determination to only take things to the new house which belong there, that spark joy ( ala The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up ), is being challenged as I pick up one thing and question to pack or not to pack. I gave up after only one shelf. I went back to my journals.
That's what I did with my afternoon energy. I played in my journals. I snipped and clipped from pages and magazines and I sought peace. That's what I do when all feels unsettled. I find the way to peace traced through my journals. Somehow that is the way that I remember to breathe.
Breathing is good. Breathing is what makes me remember that I am alive and today is just a day and tomorrow will be another one. Breathing is my reminder that it is not in my control to create a magical Thanksgiving. All I can do is what I can do. I can make food, stay focused on the moment, show up. Sometimes trying too hard creates the disaster that I am trying to avoid.
So tonight, I breathe. Tomorrow, I ride to the mountains with my wandering son. I want just a few moments with him, to marvel at the world, to explore the big and deep questions. It will be a good day.