Last night, I was driving home alone in the quiet dark of 101 toward Sugartown. There was a perfect ring around the moon, but no other signs of rain.
Out of nowhere, a swell of emotion swept over me like a rogue wave. I let it come. It had been a while, after all. The whole way home, I gripped the steering wheel, sobbing. I didn’t try to stop it, not one bit.
When I got in the house, D folded me in his arms. “It’s just so hard sometimes,” was all I could say. I had no sense of where it was coming from, and it didn’t matter.
And I know you understand. “It” is just so hard for you sometimes, too. Whatever “it” is for you. Several of my dearest friends are going through some difficult, difficult stuff right now. The waves keep coming, relentless swells.
D held me and kept saying, “It’s OK.” And it is. It felt so good, to let it out. To wring myself dry, then go to sleep. I’m always relieved after giving into the undertow. I feel exhausted, alive, human.
This morning, refreshed and renewed, I pushed myself beyond my normal walk up the mountain. I came upon a lake (who knew?). The frogs greeted me ecstatically.
Another walker told me that you can see this particular lake only this time of year, after the rains. At the end of spring, it goes away. What timing. What luck.
Here’s a hug for my friends who are dealing with “it”. And here’s one for readers I don’t know yet who are dealing with “it”. Cry it out when you need to. It feels so good, and the water this time of year is good for lakes and the flowers that are coming soon.