Zen’s great. But sometimes it’s OK to be like, “What the…?!”

Zen’s great. But sometimes it’s OK to be like, “What the…?!”
In my head, I was forever 21 and reaching middle age just didn’t seem to fit with my persona.
The box is tossed in front of the front door, the bag is almost completely empty, and, mixed between the pieces, are squashed particles of cereal dust.
I didn’t get mad at him for an impulse that he obviously couldn’t control in that moment. I wanted to. A voice in my head said, “Yo. Freak out.”
If you can’t be at peace, at least be a story.
Fireworks don’t go off for great parental achievements. There are no major awards to be handed out.
I may have helped, but his successes were about him doing it, not me teaching him.
It’s why my stomach gets knots. It’s why I come running.
Getting hurt is easy, not letting it change who you are isn’t.
In that hospital bed, the question of whether I would do anything for my kids was real.
You must be logged in to post a comment.