I, in this particular moment, wished I lived in Boston and spent the weekends in a cabin in Maine. I’d cook, I’d rake, and sleep in and listen to the sound of the ocean. My house would smell like wood smoke and massage oil. There would be a solid man there who loved me and chopped wood for the fireplace. We’d have people over for hot toddies and stay up late talking about the meaning of life. Maybe there’s a dog.
I don’t know how much I really want that, but it feels palpable right this second. I know I can always go back to Boston if I want to. I know that I am not stuck, or powerless. But I am torn. There are a lot of reasons for me to be here in New York right now – a lot of good reasons. And my life here is good. There are friends and support networks; family nearby – which is so important to me; career opportunities; creative energy abounds here, bouncing off the walls, into and out of hearts and minds; not to mention all the good food, the museums, the architecture. Sigh. There’s just so much.
But, today, I’m just feeling a dull headache behind my right eye (no doubt from that glass and a half of wine I had last night). I’m feeling rushed, when there is no hurry. And scattered, when everything is in place – exactly where it’s supposed to be.
What do you do when you’re confronted with this mood? My instincts waver between shaking it off and trying to appreciate the beauty around me, and diving into it, rolling in it, and feeling around inside to figure it out.