Something about traveling leaves my tongue tied. Things have happened, and I have changed, but I can’t figure out how to tell the story about any of it. At least not in a way that expresses the poise and the discord. I’m sure I could say that I’m finding myself, but sometimes it feels more like I’m losing myself and finding everything else.
I didn’t think that when I was sitting in this park exactly. Rather, I thought about the workers who were preparing the garden for spring. And if I made them uncomfortable as I watched. I thought about the young man who I saw under the tree with a camera ‘round his neck, and I wondered what language he spoke and if we see the same things. I thought about how I’m not brave at all, but I sometimes do brave things. I wish that made it easier to keep doing them. And I thought about how I keep experiencing these moments that seem much more like other lives.