I poured boiling water into my favorite tall and black ceramic cup. The lavender chamomile teabag was bathed in honey and turmeric. A perfect blend. Then, I splashed a dash of milk to top off my morning tea. I gave my drink a quick stir with a knife, grabbed two granola bars, and made myself comfortable at the corner of my sectional couch.
When I turned to look out into the sunny spring morning through my living room window, I could see the Rocky Mountains were semi-coated with snow, almost like it was wearing a bikini at various edges of its body. The mountains are sunbathing, I thought. And the naked trees nearby my residence has yet to bloom its spring leaves, and there is a morning chill lingering in the city; a calm breath before the invasion of a winter storm.
I sipped my tea at its perfect temperature and exhaled as the warm liquid coated my throat and soothed my lungs. Ahhhhhh. This is how it feels to be in the present. It was calming enough for me to focus on the color of my tea: milky white — almost translucent — and a hint of gold from the honey and turmeric. I motioned my nose close to its surface and intensely inhaled the brief steams that carried the sweet lavender scent. Damn, that smells good.
I straightened my back and I felt a buzzing in my gut. It crawled its way up into my lungs, up my throat, into my ringing ears, and then raided my head. I almost forgot to take a breath. I looked around in my apartment, eyeing the meticulously positioned furniture with some untidy things here and there. The space that I’m in, the apartment complex I’m housed in, the city that I live in, and the life I am living for myself. I looked at the mountains, again, but they were not there.
My furniture was gone — the dining table, the desk, the coffee table, the TV and its stand. The lamps, the pictures on the walls, and even the couch from under me disappeared. My bank account and my job were both weakened and unstable. I am even further away from where I was. The weather indeterminate.
I haven’t built a family of my own, yet. It has been eight years since my last relationship. I am grossly underpaid for what I do and I am throughly miserable with my job. I am inconsistent, unsure of myself; A fire ignited but short-lived. I lack faith in myself from time to time because I have long been conditioned to self-sabotage. I am a young man who is now re-parenting myself. Where am I going in this life and where will I be in five years? I see where I want to be and I see what I want to have. How far will I get and will I be strong enough to last? Will I eventually get to be at least 70 years old in the distant future, even though I dread aging? I have sustained a mediocre life for this long but have not sustained the kind of life where my values are met to its fullest.
I look at myself in the mirror every day and I, honestly, do not recognize myself. Sure, the pandemic has significantly aged me, but my body has not forgotten how it was shaped and it never will. I look tired. I am tired. I am lost. I am alone. I frequently revisit my past selves, many with cringeworthy personalities who have taken regretful actions. Too much baggage on the train, I say. I left some behind but have always and, will always, take myself with me wherever I go.
Plant the flowers in its garden and let its roots push itself into the depths;
The water giving it just enough to reach even further.
The sun giving its head enough to reach even higher.
The ground giving it enough stability to expand its growth even wider and stronger and more prevalent.
Yes, this is where I live now.
This is where I have made myself.
This is where I will be.
This is where I’m going to celebrate even further, farther, and higher.
The soil will know my name.
The grass will feel my kind gestures.
The trees will hear me speak and the bees will be drunk with my flavor. The ants will find their way through me and the ladybugs will nap on my face.
The wind will tickle my beauty — a flicker, a dance, a twist and turn, a sway.
I am gentle, but the impression I have made is enough for me to stay.
I peeled open the granola bar package and rolled back the foil so I could easily bite into the molded rectangular-shaped oatmeal with chocolate chips. Hmm crunchy and sweet, and easy to break down with my teeth. I took another sip of my tea and the savory footprints from the granola tingled across my tastebuds; a fun occurrence from an ordinary action. And I repeated this cycle until it was time for me to move on to the next thing in my day. And then onto the next thing. And onward — hopefully higher, further, and farther.
