11.27

I haven't written in a while though I've been meaning to. The past week or so has been painful, physically and emotionally, and it has taken me some time to recover. For a bit there, I wasn't able to find myself, I wasn't able to reach that inner light that's usually so readily accessible.

I got another concussion last Saturday, leaving me with terrible incessant migraines and sending me into an over-dramatically hopeless state. Again, I thought? I swore I wouldn't be reckless enough to hurt my head again, especially after the profound effects the last concussion had on my life only months ago. Then I went and hurt it anyway, my self-preservation skills failing me once again. I resent regret, but there it was, standing in the front of my mind replaying the uncontrollable over and over again.

The seemingly earth-shattering team drama, self realizations and family matters that went along with the week didn't help my fickle emotional state, that's for sure. I wished I could be there for Patrick, be there for my grandpa's 100th birthday, have a real Thanksgiving. I felt weak and found it difficult to cope with all sorts of things I couldn't even pinpoint. It was as if all the dramatic changes happening in my life suddenly caught up with me. A sadness crept up that I haven't experienced in quite a while. I tried to make myself feel it in all its entirely and I let it wipe me out until nothing was left. In my emptiest moments I began to see the light again.

I saw this light when Ian hugged me and told me it's alright. When Cassandra made me peppermint tea and let me cry to her on my cot. When grant came over and listened to me and held my hand. When Roy yelled at me for not talking to him for a while, then hugged me because he just knew. When Wynn laid down right on top of me on my cot. When the sunshine on my face actually brought me warmth again.

The universe teaches forgiveness in small, strange ways. Even when I don't feel I deserve it, these little acts of love remind me of the beauty that's here even when things are difficult and I lose myself for a while.

I'm trying to own that I am a highly sensitive human being. Sometimes I allow the seemingly smallest things to affect me deeply, sometimes the hurt I feel nearly knocks me out. I always think I'll never be able to make it back, I'll never be able to find the goodness again once it goes away for a bit. These thoughts are foolish, because the goodness always seems to comes back and the pain goes away.

Now, I'm sitting in the van as we travel all around St. Augustine trying to find people to sign work orders. This is probably the 17th day of my life that I will spend in a government van. But that doesn't really matter, because I didn't wake up with a headache this morning, I got to meet a 7 week old kitten, I'm weaning coffee back into my life after a week, I ate lunch at the ocean and I am happy again.

Some would say the days have been redundant, though the word "consistent" makes it sound better. Wake up, breakfast, stretch, sit in the van or pick up logs all day, dinner, chores, sleep. I like the structure of our routine and the simplicity of life at this point. In this little world, it's easy to live in the moment and I can't imagine my life ever being like this again after this year. We're moving to a church on Wednesday, where space and outlets will be far more limited. I may actually miss the wide open fields of the fairgrounds, the card games that occur nightly at the foot of my cot, and the rodeo arena where Wynn and I make our ghost hunter videos. Life may be generally redundant here but each moment is unique, and it is surely an experience that I'm trying to deeply soak in. To be young, to live in a warehouse, to have a slumber party with 50 other people each night, to live as minimally as I ever have,  all of these little peculiarities have become part of my endless learning.