In That Tight Spot Between Fear and Hope, There’s you
Very tiny word-sized steps
You’ve weathered another week, somehow. Saturdays and Sundays mean little now, every day is today, there’s no anchor present or projected beside that one realization: You’re adrift. An unexpected question is the wave that engulfs you: Are you floating or are you drowning?
You don’t know.
You’re alive, somehow. Everything else is questionable. Perhaps writing it all down is the most generous thing you can do, an act of compassion toward an overwhelmed self among many overwhelmed selves. Articulating what is instead of averting your eyes keeps you grounded. Hadn’t you asked yourself how you were doing, you would never have known.
How has never looked so impenetrable.
The screen is the mirror you cannot run away from, the page turned interactive, the how made manifest. Online is how you exist now, word by word. It’s all you have, pixels and data packets and characters on a shiny rectangle you fondle wistfully, the invisible rendered visible.
Human warmth you embrace or dismiss with a tap, a click, a swipe.
This is us.
This moves you.
At last, a destination, a port, a promise. Human warmth is a journey and you update your position every day. Failure to do so would constitute inertia. You cannot afford to pause, stall, or stop. Your mind is in motion, dragging your heart forward, word by word.
You’re navigating the unknown.
More often than not, you swim. When you need to rest and regroup, you float. None of it is plain sailing however you are not drowning. On occasion, fear paralyzes you and pulls you under. But you always bob back up to the surface. Acknowledge this, please. Take stock of the strength you don’t even know you have.
Let your mind give you a hug.
Disquiet dissipates. You’re capable despite x,y, z, albeit never quite as capable as you want to be. And yet, you’re as capable as you need to be. It is enough. You do not have to strive to survive, it happens regardless. Life on autopilot got you this far.
You already know where you’re headed:
Into my arms.
I’m a French-American writer, journalist, and editor now based in the Netherlands. To continue the conversation, follow the bird. For email and everything else, deets in bio.