I sit, looking out the office window at the mountains of the north shore, watching the float planes land on the inlet, the sky blue, the water bluer still. I watch the sail boats drift along, wonder yet again if the gas station in the inlet sells chips and the auto trader in a rack and random fuses.
I went out for dinner with a cousin last night, I will have dinner with a friend tonight. There was lunch with some favourite colleagues today. Brunch with my Aunt and Uncle after a run tomorrow. Ms. Fab arrives at our hotel about noon tomorrow. There will be shopping and sea otters and gabbing and wine and hugs. (Ms. Fab gives about the most amazing hugs you can imagine).
And I will just breathe.
On Monday I took leave of my senses for 20 minutes or so. Someone came into my office and asked me a seemingly innocuous question. I started to sob. He was kindness itself. He closed my office door, handed me his hanky and told me that he didn’t know what was wrong, but it would be ok. I lost my mind for 20 minutes. I don’t often do that, but for 20 minutes every single thing was too much. I have never cried at work before, but the pain was great and he – entirely accidentally – hit the nexus of it with a laser beam.
I need to breathe.
Find my breath so I can return to my centre.
Breathe out some of the stress and hurt that has made up my life in the last 2 weeks. Breathe out a sense of failure, breathe in the love that I am surrounded by.
Breathe in joy and let the rest escape me with a mighty sigh.