I wasn’t prepared for the last week or so. When I’m not prepared for things, I get anxious. When I get anxious, I get scared. But I’m a work in progress, just like everyone else. I battle my own fears and anxieties in my own way. This week, I battled them with The Piano Guys.
You close your eyes and all the world goes dead. You think you made it up inside your head. — Now and then you see people for the first time. For the first time in a hundred times. In a hundred, hundred, times. And you can’t help but stare. They’re like Pollock-style paint drops. Only
She loved to dance, my Ma. But she’d only do it for her girls. Behind closed doors where she could twist and turn and laugh. When she first lost herself, first forgot everything and everyone but her Dear Bill, all her inhibitions seemed to fall away, and she’d dance just about anywhere. Give her half
I have a bracelet that says “Breathe”. Just “Breathe”. I wear it a lot. Because sometimes I forget to do that. To breathe. In my kitchen there’s a plaque made of distressed 2x4s, cut to pieces. The words “be still” are written across it. Be still…and know. This little thing, it’s hard for me. And
Everything I’ve ever let go of in life, had claw marks on it. I even hold on to my breath longer than I should. It leaves me in ragged little strips. Shredded up by my insides and the knowledge that once it’s gone, I’ll never get it back. That scares me. And that, right there,
Most moments, we miss. We just lose. We don’t know to make them special. Don’t know that they’re an only or a last. But, every now and then, we get it right. And we stay stuck right down inside them, those moments. Right where we’re supposed to be. Until they’re over. Because we know. I
It’s empty in the valley of your heart The sun, it rises slowly as you walk Away from all the fears And all the faults you’ve left behind The harvest left no food for you to eat You cannibal, you meat-eater, you see But I have seen the same I know the shame in your
And yet, as always, the springtime sun brings forth new life, and we may rejoice because of this new life and contribute to its unfolding; and Mozart remains as beautiful and tender as he always was and always will be. There is, after all, something eternal that lies beyond reach of the hand of fate
And just like that, everything changes. In a moment. In a word. You see the things that matter, the things that don’t. And you wonder how you ever mistook one for the other. Life’s like that sometimes. It gets us in our secret place. Where we go to hide from the world – and from
I never just breathe. I spend most of my time doing the opposite – holding my breath until it comes out so fast and furious it makes me dizzy. But today, outside the airport, I took a moment to do it…to just breathe. I didn’t worry about the sun on my face or the time
We tell ourselves stories in order to live. The naked woman on the ledge outside the window is a victim of accidie, or maybe an exhibitionist, and it would be ‘interesting’ to know which. We tell ourselves that it makes a difference whether the naked woman is about to commit a mortal sin or is
I used to spend my lunch hour in Manchester’s town hall. I’d stand in front of a mural by Ford Madox Brown, eat potato chips, and wonder about the time and people who had passed by the painting since it first found its home upon the wall. Art and architecture and celestial mechanics always make
