You Must Do The Thing You Think You Cannot Do

It started with getting up this morning, then sitting your ass down to meditate and tell yourself positive things you do not yet believe, then getting dressed and putting on some big girl shoes even though you feel like a child, then collecting your keys and your bag and putting some mascara on even though I know it's a futile effort, and then bringing your brother and his wife to the airport through traffic and talking and listening to my brother laugh at the WTF podcast with Marc Maron that you put on because you knew it'd make him laugh and that laugh is carbonated holiness as Annie Lamott says, and then driving to the train parking lot and pacing around outside crying big fat tears while talking to your ex-husband who is impossibly the most comforting voice you can hear right now, and telling the truth and listening, too, and then getting on the train to State Street with all the other bozos on the bus, looking around knowing we all carry these impossible and beautiful lives within us, and then putting one goddam foot in front of the other and walking to your building, the elevator, your office. Any of these steps felt impossible today, but so we go. So it goes. I'll spend today believing in things I don't feel and don't see, yet.

Just because you told me to.