On Flying

We stand up to begin the ordered shuffle through the gate. I scroll to my customary airplane boarding playlist (entitled "World Conquering" on Spotify), blast AC/DC through my earbuds and walk through the tunnel towards the plane as if it is one leading to my own personal arena. This is how I remind myself to be fearless when traveling alone. It always works.

There's a silently acknowledged etiquette to be silent, even in the sitting down and removing of jackets and replacing of laptops in overhead compartments. As of this moment, we are between worlds, not in them, and the hustle and bustle of our former and future lives has no place between the rows of oval windows.

For some reason, I always have the urge to cry the moment the front wheels lift and we are pulled into the sky from some invisible force above. Perhaps it is because this is when it hits me that in that moment, I am neither in the place from which I am coming, nor the one toward which I am traveling. I and the hundreds of people around me whose names and stories I do not know are in a world of our own, headed toward our own great mysteries for which none of us are prepared. I think this is always the first moment I realize I am never prepared. But for the next few hours, I am surrounded by people nothing like me and just like me, headed into the huge crisscrossed network of human stories, and for that time I am allowed to be alone and unprepared.

Minutes go by. Hours. Time slows and speeds up and slows again. I might stay curled forever in the cramped, quiet limbo of space between my armrests, my head and knees propped against the wall, songs passing mindlessly through my earbuds, fading in and out of sleep. But eventually, the gentle motion of the plane's descent reminds me how gravity sometimes feels like a mother softly shaking my shoulders, and I rise and fall on a lazy wave. I try to fight it, stay curled in my almost-comfortable position, but gradually the downward movements of the wave become less smooth, mixing with the dull roaring vibrations of the wheels opening and stretching toward our destination.

Our wheels collide with the rushing earth beneath us, bumping, and suddenly I am weightless, the forward inertia of the brakes lengthening my spine and pushing my body back to its upright and locked position. We glide into a gate. My eyes find the window next to me as the people around me begin to rustle back to life. In the distance, framed perfectly and shining against the black night, is the Capitol building.

Welcome home.

Forward

It is a big thing
to look failure in the eyes.
To not shove it away,
not cling to its arm,
just look it up and down
and say to it,
"I have to go now."

It is a hard thing
to raise your chin
and look the world
in the eyes again.
To keep taking the stairs
two at a time,
walk without clenching
your fists,
and to watch the world
come at you and say,
"Bring it.
I'm ready."

Because you have to,
you have to,
you have to,

even if you're not ready
at all.

Things I'm Thankful For

My mom, my dad, my brother, my dog, and my cat.

The people in my phone I can text at any time to ask for prayers or encouragement because I know that they love me unconditionally and are always ready to tell me such.

The fact that I can walk out my door every day without one jot of worry about my own safety.

Cinnamon on top of coffee.

Having not one, but two jobs that I actually enjoy doing.

I get to live in New England.

A red Jeep named O'Malley.

The people in my life who will take care of me when I can't do it for myself.

Improv team.

A kind roommate who lets me borrow her flannels and makes my bed on the days I am too flustered to do it myself.

I was picked to be in a fall short where I am literally the only cast member, and that people in this theater department actually respect my skill as an actor that much.

The fact that there are people at this school who will (and do) speak well of me around campus as someone who is worthy of friendship and respect.

Good shoulder massages.

For the huge blessing that I have not once in my life had to seriously worry about money.

More often than not, the biggest stresses in my life stem from the fact that people care about me rather than them not caring about me.

Grace.
Grace.
Grace.

"There Is No Why"

It's a terrible thing to be trusted
to be handed something that
doesn't belong
to you.

Because here's the thing about weakness
it doesn't care
that your heart is too big
for your hands
or how just how precious
is that thing
that person
you just shattered
on the tile.

The lioness of loneliness
will pounce regardless
and the fears you use
to prop open
your bedroom door at night
will tumble into the room,
snarling, as your willpower and secrets
fall from your arms
while you scramble to put them
back in their place.

Does there ever come a moment
where it is okay to let go?
Because honestly,
my shoulders are killing me
and I can't figure out
if I'm allowed to drop anything,
or whose fault it will be
when I do anyway.

So I will bite the whip,
sing through gritted teeth
and roar back at the thunder
that I do not fear the storm,
because I am already the storm.