It’s been a very rigid life for years, now. Beeping monitors, doctors’ appointments, restricted schedules. Score sheets and evaluations, carefully planned purchases, selected home curriculum. Timers, masks, Clorox wipes. Measurements, measuring, being measured; the constant strain. Not just medically, but professionally, socially, and mentally, too.
I feel the wild in me unraveling. And not just unraveling but taking over like ivy or the smell of rain or orange juice spilled across the kitchen floor. A great root swelling beneath the surface, getting ready to send a piercing tendril heavenward at last. Labor pains that can’t be stopped. I’m softening my heart to welcome it with reckless abandon. To bear this new and different, but more authentic thing. It’s coming. If not in freedom of schedule at least in freedom of heart and mind and perspective. Which is, in the end, the only real freedom you can declare in this world.
