I rode my bicycle to the park yesterday, and listened to this Sigur Ros song while I pedaled down the street in my overalls and moccasins. (Go ahead and listen to it while you keep reading.) I laid in the sun and read a couple chapters from a book I just started, about people who live in severe poverty in Mumbai. My own problems suddenly seemed pale, and I felt urgently compelled to exhale gratitude with every breath that left my body. Happiness and compassion seeped into every crevice of my soul and I felt so alive that I thought my bicycle might just lift off and take me straight to the moon. (Which made me wish I had packed snacks.) I felt legit...Katie feelings. The ones where I lose myself and want to pick up the whole world and make it better. The ones that put stars in my eyes and compassion in my belly. Me feelings. THESE feelings.
I've concluded that hope is like stitches for broken hearts and souls.
Last week I felt a little broken, but tried to remain positive and hopeful. This week I feel completely whole again. I don't have anything new figured out about the logistics of my life, but that doesn't seem to matter to the fire in my chest these last few days. It just burns on and on and doesn't let up. To quote, uh, myself from this post: "Hope keeps going. Skinned knees and all, it keeps going."
I've had some really, REALLY good insights into some poor thought patterns I've had for like...YEARS...now, and I'll write more about that soon. These last few days, I find myself laughing and befriending and speaking up and being comfortable in my own skin and just...being ME again. I've loved this whole crazy California adventure, but for the first time in all of it, I finally feel like all of me again. It's like the pieces of me have all caught up.
I'm all here now. And it feels like blessed, warm fireworks in my chest after a very long, impatient June.