Feeling Quite Cold

I have found myself in a very strange place.

I have found myself in a very strange place. I am no longer there but not quite anywhere else, no longer in the life that was but not quite in the life that will be. I am overwhelmed with the desire to jump ship, to run to a place that is somewhere in the future and leave behind the mess. Portofino, maybe? It was good enough for Elizabeth Taylor. Unfortunately, I don’t do that anymore. So, I sit. With my feelings, with you on the other side of the screen, with the anxiety and shame and restless anticipation for what’s to come—here I am.

It seems that whatever I have been chasing for the last five years morphs into something new and just out of reach precisely when I think I have it in my grasp. I stare up at the moon like a lost puppy, following her silvery light down a path that nearly reveals itself just before the sun rises and washes away all necessary contrast. I have been moving in circles. The radius expands but the direction never changes. I have become my own reverberation, a faded echo, returned over and over again.

There is a song in my head that longs to be written. I keep hoping someone will come along and pick up the pen. Therein lies my problem. This song, this elusive melody, belongs only to me and every time I outsource the labor of her creation I find myself struggling to hear the music. Do you remember that game we played as children, the one where we closed our eyes and relied on someone’s voice to tell us if were getting warmer or cooler? There was an object or person established as the target and we had to meander blindly to find it. When we got especially close the voice would yell, “HOT!” When we started moving in the wrong direction the voice would laugh with ridicule, “COLD!” Sometimes the voice person would lead you astray for their own entertainment, or, more innocently, because they didn’t know how to play the game. Nonetheless, I’ve been feeling quite cold.

I have a lot going on at the moment. I’m not sure how to speak about it or write about it or feel about it or heal about it. I am simply here, trying. Saying nothing, writing nothing, and feeling nothing has absolutely never worked for me. I am bouncing off the walls and lying flat on my back. I am heavy with questions but free of desperation to find the answers. I’ve got a gratitude list and a hot tea kettle. I’ve been watching too many TikTok videos and eating too many prepackaged snacks. I’ve sat for hours adding items to my online cart only to abandon it without purchasing a thing. I did finally buy some curtains, though, natural linen with sage green vertical stripes. I bought magnetic drape pulls that look like wooden daisies so the light is sure to get through when I want it.

I’ve been staring out at my front yard most of this Sunday afternoon, pondering what to do with all of these fallen leaves. The trees surrounding my property have reached their colorful peak, their last dazzling number, and now they are ready to let go. Red, brown, orange, yellow, and every shade in between blanket the entire lawn—the remaining bit of cover before the barren winter.

The cyclical nature of this performance is not lost on me. The cold will come and the quiet will grow louder. We will all start to long for those lush days of spring that seem eons away, the days that bring back the birds and sweet scent of fruit and flowers. Still, let us not miss the opportunity that this moment affords. Let us not miss the clearing that the lifeless winter provides, a chance to see further with less obstruction. Life always returns, as does love, as does the sun, as does the silvery moon. I am comfortable leaving it all up to destiny’s natural rhythm.