What if it all ends up okay?
I have this theory that everything could change if I shifted my perspective. Tilt the axis, spin the glass, slightly turn in a new direction.
These are the things I tell myself in the middle of the night when my vision becomes scary blurry. Maybe this is normal for your 30s. Maybe it’s because I haven’t found my footing since the pandemic—the sentence of the century. There is the before, and there is the after. Like a silent movie in shades of grey that you can’t stop watching. Sometimes, I find I no longer recognize this version of my life. At the same time, it’s also the only version that feels familiar.
The perspective I’m trying to shift: I want to stop being worried all the damn time. Worried about health. Worried about work. Worried about my loved ones. Worried about writing. Worried about what comes next for me, for the world, for everything.
Just now, as I’m writing this, a car accident happened outside my window. I…
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