A Year In Between

Everything is perfect. It’s an early morning in Chicago and it’s, yet again, unseasonably warm. I wake up in what seems like a John Mayer music video, minus the John Mayer part, and I’m okay with that. I’ve been at this house sit for a few days and I’m trying desperately to get out of the funk that I was in last week in order to enjoy this to the fullest. I mean, looking around I can’t really believe that I’m here, just a few months ago, I was sitting in my parents place, afraid of where I would end up, afraid of being alone.

I stretch and tumble out of bed, ruffle the hair on Hayley’s head (the lovely house sit collie) and notice the sunshine pouring in as I make a pot of tea. I fry an egg and throw it on a bed of polenta and start taking pictures to test the light for future food pictures for my vegan recipe blog. It’s beautiful.

Hayley and I ramble around the neighborhood, snuggle on the couch. I read, enjoy the quiet, put on dubstep, dance like a crazy person. I wander over into an industrial district and climb the stairs to a light-flooded yoga studio. I stretch and hold and move forward and learn about my body and feel myself begin to mend. Then I sit down here and try to figure out how to put it all into words.

My ego was damaged last week. It hurt to be toyed with, but in the end, everything I felt last week, a few months ago, last night, I realize that I made myself feel that way. I made myself afraid. I made myself feel unwanted and unloved. I made myself  fear that I would never have a better existence than the dysfunctional one that I knew so well. But when I think about how lucky I am that I fell into this place at a time when I so desperately needed to heal, well, I can’t help but let all of my fear drop to the floor and become excited about the future. I mean, look at this place.