On a Rainy Sunday Morning with a Full Heart

Trying to pull this batch of cookies together in my new apartment is a comedy of errors. Surely there’s an article out there somewhere about the challenges we face as single people living alone. Almost injured myself trying to scoop solid coconut oil out of the jar. Walnuts went flying as I tried to chop them, but I didn’t cut myself. My countertop is so small it’s a constant juggling act to try to make space for pans and cooling racks, all while not tripping over the opened dishwasher door where my pots and pans are drying. Not to mention that this is in fact the third time I’ve attempted to bake these cookies in the past four days. And after all that, I’m out of cinnamon.

But this chaotic kitchen by no means represents the rest of the day. I closed the bar last night with my coworker, only a four-ish hour shift for me, and it was perfect. The feeling I had when we were all standing around the bar, talking and laughing, people were making plans for tomorrow, I felt like I was home. I felt like I was part of something, connected to these people, if only around the bar, sipping beers. No one was rushed, no one pressured, everyone left peacefully, and we shut the bar down. It was a quiet night.

I came home and turned the heat on in my bathroom, creating a steam room effect with a hot shower. I lathered in vetiver and lavender oils afterwards, and even though I tried, I couldn’t keep my eyes open in bed. It was like dropping into a coma, wrapped in grounding and soothing oils and scents. It taps into a part of my brain and body that can’t be accessed with logical thinking. It was amazing. I awoke to the rain, a slight headache and a voice that makes me sound like I’ve been smoking for two nights straight. But I feel fresh, and my heart is light, despite the miserable weather. The kitchen brings chaos and fun, with simple math and an out-of-order pantry, but my soul is filled. I’m sitting in my new chair, looking at my made bed, the open curtains letting some of the gray light in. Music on the stereo, warm light from my lamps. My body is a bit creaky from yoga and work and likely not enough rest, but that is enough. I am enough. I am perfect, this moment is perfect.

I feel comfortable. I created a beautiful space. I’m setting myself up to thrive. I’m starting to feel more like a grown ass woman with a cozy apartment and neat friends. I feel the confidence growing to live my OWN life to the fullest. It will happen seamlessly, without prodding or planning. I can create the life I want to live.

Today I get to spend the day with my family, celebrating Thanksgiving! My brother and his wife are driving down. What’s beautiful is that it really DOES feel like Thanksgiving. My heart is full with gratitude for the support my Mom and Rick have given me, both in the effort to spread my wings and fly and the stability to land again, on solid ground and on my own two feet. She’s a guiding light in the storm, no doubt. It’s incredible, the bond we share. I’m her daughter, she’s my rock and my source. The giver who taught me how to give, how to create and who showed me what love should be.

WOW. Just looking around. This apartment! Wow! I have outdone myself. What an incredible space! What a space, just for me, to savor and enjoy. What a perfect light, what a perfect color combination. I know it’s just stuff, but damn does it feel good to look around and see MY stuff. MY belongings, my bedspread, my well-loved and used quilt, a gift from my Mom. My mountain of pillows, where I snuggle up at night. My laptop full of planned and heart-lifting playlists. My artwork. My lamps, my old LJ suitcase. My table, where I’ll break bread and share memories, like of the first time I attempted to bake cookies in my house and walnuts went flying. My altar of statues, from Argentina, from Miami, from past loves. My pots that hold more heartbreak, heartache and memory, but also give me inspiration and grounding. These things, they are all mine. The memories and experiences that these objects hold and represent, every single one of them is mine. They make up my fabric, the fabric and threads of my little existence here in the Universe.

I have been building and creating this existence since I was born. Who knew I could decorate it so colorfully, with such inspiration and warmth, such love and so many gifts from the solid network of people in my life. I am so, so lucky to embark on this new journey, on this continued path, right where I left off, at the end of the last breath. I’ll find the missing ingredients, or they’ll find me, so it goes. And I’m sure, of course, the cookies will come out just right.

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4 thoughts on “On a Rainy Sunday Morning with a Full Heart

  1. I can just see you in your new little cozy home writing on your computer and having a sip out of a Mike Douglas mug. So happy you are happy!

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