... the colder days

while reading listen to:

...

It feels good to write again.

To let my juices flow and create a well-known connection between the brain and moving fingers on the keyboard. A connection I am still exploring, figuring out and understanding.

This time around, I am doing it at a brand new desk, sitting in a chair that doesn't match the decor of the living room. A place that is starting to have its first memories; of friends laughing, late Netflix binges, diners prepared in record time and half-done yoga poses courtesy of the crooked ceiling and my long hands. It feels good to have my own space.

I am quite aware of my post about insidious miss Consistency, and my solemn oath that I will battle her each week, with a new post and a list of fresh ideas.

Then Mister Life surprised me with a plate full of obligations, and to each one, I happily said yes. Unbeknownst to me, at the bottom of the pile, he left a new lesson for me.

Sometimes, the thing you dearly love needs to be put on the highest shelf in the back of the closet in a worn-out box with the tag "dreams on hold". And despite feeling a nagging pressure in your chest, hands slid the lid on the box and close the closet doors. You do it so you can deal with pressing issues so that you can pursue other parts of your desired life. The ones where work isn't as pleasant as getting lost in your head is. Still, they are an undeniable part of the future. Like a procrastinator I am, they need to be done, even If at the last minute, hustling to meet the seat deadline and so putting more desirable dreams on hold.

In doing so thin dust of time settled on the box. The lesson Mister Life so sneakily left for me to discover was, that it is not the end of the world, the end of my dreams to prioritize different aspects of my life. I still have time. Panicking and feeling guilty is doing nothing for me, except leaving a bitter taste in my mouth and in doing so making me procrastinate.

It just takes a little more courage, to reach for the box again. A bigger intake of air to let the dust dance in the afternoon light. And even when the dust itches the nose, once the lid is taken off, once the box is opened, the familiar feeling is back, and it is like you never left.

That is consistency mixed with the vortex of life. The consistency of never giving up on yourself, your dreams, desires. The consistency of showing up, when the time gives you another opportunity, another hour in a day to do what you love. It is opening the box even when it stings. Even when it brings feelings of disappointment and anger. For not doing it sooner, for putting it off for weeks.

It is listening to the voice saying "What if...?"

It is following your gut.

... Because, who am I if not my dreams?

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