So I let it be so.
I move through the day. I glide on the minutes that pass. I let them float under me. I let them go.
And it’s easy enough. Sure, there are moments I stagger. There are moments I stop. Pause. Bend down and pry through the seconds. Pick apart each passing fragment of my existence and analyze whether it means something or not. Whether it has value. Whether it’s worth it.
That happens. I can’t say it doesn’t happen. It does. It most certainly does.
But I let that go too. I start dropping everything. I start dropping and begin floating. Up and up, I float.
And sure, the ground is still there. Sure, with each foot I rise I bear the weight of the fall.
But who cares? What is it they say about ships? About where they’re safe? About why they’re built?
Well, yeah. That’s true too.
I come home today feeling good. I come home from Takoma Park covered in sweat and hope.
There’s a package between the storm door and the front door. A thin cardboard box. And it’s for me.
It has my name on it.
So I tear it open inside as a cat settles down to watch. Dr Suess’ Oh, the Places You’ll Go falls out along with a letter
Life is a balancing act, it says.
And I absorb the words. The meaning. I hold them. I hold it. I balance it all.
Then I read the book. Right there on the floor.
I read the book,
And things are okay.