I remember a younger me once thought, that once I turned 25, I would have everything “figured out”. I don’t know exactly how I thought that would work out. As if a magical switch would flip and I’d think, “Oh, yeah! That’s how it all needs to be done.”

The older I get, however, not only does that appear to be less and less true, but I’m starting to realize that no matter what age or where we are in life, we are all just doing our best to “figure things out”. To be our best and do our best with the situations we find ourselves in.

The best analogy that I have for this is that we are all just crew members of a ship, and we are all simultaneously just running around – franticly – trying to patch up the holes in the ship that, inevitably, dump water into our vessel and threaten to drown us.

I like this metaphor because it works for us as both individuals, and also as teammates – be that a workplace, a relationship, a friendship, or any sort of enterprise.

We are all just scuttlebutts on a ship, trying to patch up all the holes.

I find peace in this metaphor as well.

The idea that we can control the waters around us, to sail in the perfect direction without err, was indeed the greatest fallacy of all. Instead, we do our best to stay the course.

The realization that there is not, in fact, a point in life where you have “figured it all out,” but rather – a time where you can simply be happy, and grateful in every aspect of the word.

Grateful for the impact that you are having on the people around you, and vice versa.

Grateful for the time that you manage to squirrel away for yourself – as it is ever so precious.

Grateful for the life that you managed to create.

Grateful for the ship that manages to keep you afloat.

Ode to peace – a poem

So I’ve decided that I’m going to take the pressure off. Release the valve that my younger self had screwed on so tight. The pressure to change to world, save lives, be the leader of the next revolution… or whatever it was that she thought that my current self would be doing at this time.

Because…

Truth be told….

The older I get, the more I relish peace.

The lazy days with no deadlines. Dirty clothes piled up on the floor, begging to be tomorrow’s chore. Sunlight pouring in through the window, whispering soft words of rest, and home.

The more I find joy the cream clouding up my coffee, and music playing softly on the radio as I mindlessly sweep my tile floors.

The soft and simple pleasure of sitting on the balcony, listening to the people below go about their days – always so busy; never still.

The smell of salty air that intertwines with my coffee as I watch it waft lazy and heavy through the palm fronds. It should be autumn time now. The leaves should be changing, and the air should be growing colder.

I remember that I moved myself here – to the land of endless summer – yet the gentle nostaglic reverence for the seasons still lingers. Like a ritual you don’t yet want to let go of.

Ode to home – A toast and a eulogy

Home.

It’s been so long since I’ve given myself a home.

Home.

I remember the sweet, soft grass of my childhood, as my brother begrudgingly mowed it, taking periodic – yet frequent – breaks to escape the heat.

Powered lemonade mix in the plastic pitcher. Homemade popsickles solidifying in the freezer that is just starting to rust. Plastered in magnets and memories that are only precious through the lense of passing time.

Home.

The swinging chair with red painted apples. The creek across the road where barefooted siblings searched for crawfish in its cold, clear pools. Hours spent exlporing its bends, its tunnels. Who knew such a sleepy town offered such sanctuary.

Home.

What a sweet and precious thing. To be savoured and enjoyed. One of the many treasures that will never fit into any chest… except the one beneath my neck.

Home.