Still

A lot of life has happened since I wrote last. My immobile baby is a powerhouse crawler who turns one next month. My inquisitive son is still questioning the world and has added doing construction on pieces of leftover drywall to his long list of pastimes. My husband passed the test he studied so hard to pass. I officially took on the full time position at the museum that I wanted so badly to fill.

I cycled through a months-long bout of not being able to read outside of work, and I started to learn hand embroidery to fill those nights when I cannot read because my hands cannot be still. I have tried to learn how to be still. It’s a work in progress. I started doing basic yoga. It’s a work in progress too.

These past months have been full of life within my family, and I am mentally balancing that everyday joy with other emotions. These other emotions include fear over what our larger national conversations are becoming. I struggle to balance saying what I believe with not being baited into pointless arguments that change no one’s mind. I am trying to conquer my personal fear of not offending anyone. I called my senator for the first time ever. I’ve written postcards; I’ve sent emails. I smile at my neighbors. I remember that we are more than our politics. I remember that words matter and that there is such a thing as objective truth.

And then I mentally walk it back and play with “pludo” (Play-Doh) and crawl on the floor and get covered in open-mouth toddler kisses and endure toddler “tickles” which are really jabs in the neck. And I find balance. And I practice being still.

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