It's amazing to me how quickly being back in LA my life has come to resemble an LA life again--filling up with activities exciting and mundane and leaving little time and space for solitude which I desperately crave right now. Life has only gotten heavier in the past week. It's been full of great fun and great conversations and wonderful friends, too, but the low, steady murmur of mourning underneath it all only grows in volume and intensity. For awhile in the car on Monday afternoon I was holding myself, because I literally wasn't sure if I would stay in one piece otherwise.
I am day by day losing methods and energy to flee from the inevitable void of pain. I know I need to be there for a time, but I'm afraid that it will swallow me whole and not return me the same person. I won't be the same person. I shouldn't be, and I hope to not be. My mom has been a very present force my whole life and now she's gone. That changes a person. I guess I fear the melancholy, the seriousness and deep processing I am so prone to.
So today I'm not working and I'm going to take myself on a little play date. I'm going to LACMA (the LA County Museum of Art, which is featuring an incredible Dali exhibit). I'm going to the beach. I'm going to bring one of my favorite books and a journal and a sketchpad (though I am SO not a sketcher), and maybe somewhere, somehow in the midst of today, I will have the courage to be still.
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"Courage to be still" - I get that! Sometimes being alone and quiet is the scariest thing, even if it's what you most need. You never know what will come to the surface. I pray you will have that courage and that it will be a blessing to you. I know you can't feel it, but I'm sending a big hug to you - an extra pair of arms to help hold you together.
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