Walking With Roses

Ever have one of those days when you were okay for five minutes but torn up the next? I’ve had several of those recently. I can’t put my finger on one thing, not sure I need to. I just know my head doesn’t feel right. I’m trying to help myself, pick myself up a little bit.

I had my nightly cry, sketched a little on the painting called Twelve and then decided to brave the stairs and take out the trash. Really, I just needed to be out of here and breathe.

I know I just said this on a blog I first read today. I said we see people walking down the street and they seem more grounded than we are. Well, as I walked around the courtyard I couldn’t help but feel grounded. What grounded me? Choice. Having choices, not feeling backed into a wall, not feeling as if I’m at the mercy of life itself. Being outside with no nurse, no friend standing guard, just me, I felt free. The feeling of being stuck, of being in prison washed away quickly….because I let it. 

I walked just a little bit. I walked in my blue jeans and sandals with my cape wrapped around me. I was the only person out there but I wasn’t the only life outside. There are the roses. How could I justify this impromptu walk without stopping to smell the roses?

When I came back inside I didn’t do so under duress. There was no sadness. I do at times feel like this is a prison but it is a pretty prison and it’s my home. It’s where my mint bushes grow, my rosemary and vine plants grow. It’s where lemongrass and sweet potato plants burst into life and where garlic chives string up. Home is where the aquarium teems with life. It’s where the frog sings and the cat purrs.

Yes, I want out more. I could sit here and be sad that I’m not out more, but in doing so I’d forget what it felt like to bend forward and smell the roses.

Jordan