I had finished showering and was mostly dressed before I realized that I couldn’t find a pull over I wanted to wear. It was definitely in the pile of unfolded laundry in the guest room.
Down the hall.
I half jogged and half walked out of the bedroom door passing by our long corridor that leads to the kitchen.
Daniel is at the sink washing dishes from dinner the night before.
Sonnet is eating breakfast. It’s a bowl of rice that had been cooked in chicken stock. Because she has diarrhea. She’s enthusiastic and the bowl is moving across the floor as she eats.
The corridor isn’t lit, but where Daniel and Sonnet are, is. The light illuminates them and they are framed like a living picture.
I’m caught off guard as I experience a framed moment from my life when I didn’t expect to.
I really stop. And I take in, breath in, absorb my life with an observer’s distance. Perceiving the details in the frame.
And I’m reminded of how I’ve caught glimpses before of portraits in times gone by, by accident, just like this. But never have I felt what I feel now.
Portraits from my past contained a composition that didn’t feel good. Because I didn’t like what I saw, I turned away not believing I had what it took to alter the components, aspects, and elements to craft something much more to my liking.
I also remember not wanting to do what I needed to do, to have what I truly desired. I used to think that one day my life would either (somehow on its own) become what I wanted or that I would become so numb to the pain that it wouldn’t matter anymore.
Your head when eclipsed by fear truly has no room for your dreams. The possibility of bliss just doesn’t exist.
The feelings tied to these life portraits – they are powerful pieces of information, touchstones, markers for what remains to be done and what has been accomplished triumphantly.
On this Monday morning I receive my portrait of career bliss framed by the corridor.
And I’m in love.
I feel affection for my life. I feel drawn to it. I want to be the one living it.
And the best part is how affection for one part can’t help but be present in all the other parts. They are mirrors, patterns, and blueprints for one another.
My career is part of my life. My life is part of my career. They are me. They are one.
You only pretend they are separate, but really they are not any more separate than the day is from the night, than this minute is from the next, than a leaf is from a tree.
Different yes, but no, not separate. Not ever.
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