The Journey Inward

Somewhere, right now, a woman is walking on cushiony clouds, each step bouncy and alive because a first date turned into a second and a third is in the books.  Right now, she texts him to say she'll bring dinner and writes a magazine-worthy description of his choices.  "I just don't feel like a woman has ever loved him well," she muses sadly to me.  Somewhere, right now, my friend is falling in love.

Somewhere, right now, a woman is spending the last precious hours of her dog's life together in the late afternoon sun on her balcony.  She whispers of their walks and hikes.  She reminds the dog how much the boys love her.  She thanks her for the gift of friendship, loyalty and pure love.  She thinks about the day she brought this beloved pup home, to a new house in a new town to begin a new life as a single mom of four boys.  She is in awe of the seasons they've been through together.  Right now, she's grateful that this last move, out of an unhealthy relationship, has given the two of them six months alone together, and that the dog's quality of life, and mostly likely longevity, were positively impacted.  Over and over, my dear friend murmurs, "I love you," into Lulu's deaf ear.  Somewhere, right now, my friend is losing her best friend.

Somewhere, right now, an elderly mother, home from another trip to the hospital, is confused.  It's only been an hour since their last call, but she dials her daughter, wanting to know if she's coming over tonight.  Right now, that daughter has chosen to come to writing class at my house and she has already told her mother this.  The woman is lonely and agitated and wants company.  Somewhere, right now, a scared mom wants her little girl.

Somewhere, right now, a young woman is brimming with energy.  She is feeling all the feels ~ excitement, joy, fear, concern, worry, stress, curiosity, independence, overwhelm.  Right now, she is in that liminal space between childhood and adulthood.  She is making plans and renting space and packing up and plotting her drive.  She is visiting me while we're still on the same coast.  Somewhere, right now, my daughter is on the precipice of a great adventure.

Somewhere, right now, a woman feels the weight of seven continents and five oceans upon her.  Her fatigue has sunk deep into her bones and despite her walks and talks and support groups, she is overcome by despondency sometimes.  It seems that no matter how many times her family inches forward, they are quickly beaten back two steps.  Right now, her husband's inability to work after several back surgeries, with no disability payments, has her racing from job to job to make ends meet.  "We just never get a break," my old friend says wearily.  Somewhere, right now, marriage vows are being tested on a daily basis.

Somewhere, right now, a woman arrives at her next post-retirement destination. She has three weeks planned with her husband, including a bike tour in the south of France. Sipping a cappuccino at a cafe in Paris, she reflects on the years and years of 80 hour work weeks and all that she's accomplished.  She thought it would be harder to walk away, but she's adjusted well and appreciates the travel.  There's so little left of the governmental department she spent her entire adult life at, anyway. Right now, she looks across at her husband, who is struggling physically and cognitively.  "I'm worried about him," she has confided in me.  Somewhere, right now, my sister is living her life wholeheartedly and trying to stay in the present. 

Right here, right now, I am thinking of these special people.  Their lives are messy, complicated, blissful, real, and honest...as is mine.  Writing about them has brought a smile to my face and made me grateful. 

This piece was inspired by Jess Janz's piece, Right Now, Somewhere.  That title line was so powerful to me, and I lifted it then and there!

Photo:  Morales Park, Flemington, NJ.  5.2.20 by LA