I have only been in Arizona for a week.
I have been here for a week. My belongings still reside in boxes on a cold tile floor in the kitchen and living room of a three-bedroom house for one. Every morning, I dig through three suitcases and a closet looking for something remotely professional to wear, often failing, always rushed.
But I am happy.
Because I have been here for a week.
I have been here for a week, and I have already smiled more than I have in a long, long while. I have laughed out loud until my stomach hurt – and then continued to laugh anyway.
I have congratulated myself on the small accomplishments, rather than looking only at how far I still need to go to measure up to anything remotely significant.
I have felt whole again.
I have felt like myself again.
The boxes and suitcases still remain full, not because I am have a resistance to staying; the boxes and suitcases remain full because I’m not going anywhere. I’m in no rush.
I can’t pause long enough to find a place for a mixer and some lamps – to sort through the various knickknacks that make a home homey and complete. Instead, my hours are packed with minutes that just can’t seem to expand enough to fit in all the happy.
And I used to find myself fighting to get sleep – spending countless hours tossing and turning, trying to calm myself enough to get through even just a few hours of unconscious existence – a blissful departure from a world of negativity, uncertainty, and doubt. A world of constant questioning.
Now I choose to sacrifice those hours to kissing in the rain; to hula hooping; to night swimming and philosophical conversations about the composition of an Oreo.
… To the excitement of some uncertainty, rather than the fear of all of it.
And my hours aren’t just completely slammed with epic, splendiferous moments laced together like a macaroni necklace. Sometimes they’re quiet. Sometimes they’re slow.
But it’s the comfort I found in that silence that makes all the difference.
It’s singing in the car again, smiling at people in the morning, waking up so immensely better than just “okay.”
It’s trusting myself – my instincts – my faults – my abilities.
It’s forgiving myself for being human and moving forward.
It’s coming home.