Concept:
Me, soaring high among the clouds, my soul and body feeling light as a feather.
My responsibility is my duty to protect my world, but for the moment, I cannot feel its weight. In its place, I get a whiff of true, exalted freedom in the breeze that lifts me off and away from the ground.
I float back down to meet my friends, those with which I share the unbreakable bonds of countless shared adventures and incredible tales. My love for them fills my heart and though my feet are on the ground, my heart is still in the sky.
Monday, November 28, 2016
Monday, November 14, 2016
The First One
You spend the last three years of your life helping your two best friends fight through their anxiety you don't even realize you're developing it yourself.
The first time you realize, of course, just has to be in the middle of a Bart car during the Monday morning commute.
Your heart starts to rise into your throat and you try to follow a guided breathing exercise you find on the Internet, but it cuts out as you pass through the Lake Merritt station.
It works - for a minute and a half. Suddenly, you break into a sweat, your vision goes foggy around the edges, and you fade through varying levels of consciousness. Your head and stomach feel like they're going for loop de loops on the Medusa you rode 8 times on your 8th grade end of year trip to Six Flags.
Your knees give out and you sit, like a fool, among at least a hundred slightly irritated, yet unbothered Silicon Valley worker bees.
It seems so out of place - you spend your life in crowds: you find shelter in the swaying crowds at concerts and comfort in the cheering masses at swim meets.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know it's the stress cracking down on you, only bound to get worse - but you push it away, to deal with at another time, in a more inopportune place.
How come you can help others without a second thought, but become a train wreck when you need to help yourself?
The first time you realize, of course, just has to be in the middle of a Bart car during the Monday morning commute.
Your heart starts to rise into your throat and you try to follow a guided breathing exercise you find on the Internet, but it cuts out as you pass through the Lake Merritt station.
It works - for a minute and a half. Suddenly, you break into a sweat, your vision goes foggy around the edges, and you fade through varying levels of consciousness. Your head and stomach feel like they're going for loop de loops on the Medusa you rode 8 times on your 8th grade end of year trip to Six Flags.
Your knees give out and you sit, like a fool, among at least a hundred slightly irritated, yet unbothered Silicon Valley worker bees.
It seems so out of place - you spend your life in crowds: you find shelter in the swaying crowds at concerts and comfort in the cheering masses at swim meets.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know it's the stress cracking down on you, only bound to get worse - but you push it away, to deal with at another time, in a more inopportune place.
How come you can help others without a second thought, but become a train wreck when you need to help yourself?
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