thursday. hey, good morning. he smiled and recited the address as if he’d always lived there. only it wasn’t his home or mine - it was my work address. it’s a dance, our dance. his foot hit the gas, i found my place on the right side, bag to my left, phone in hand. ready. so, how are you?  good, miss maura - almost friday. a relieved smile. indeed. he knows that i prefer the river route even though there’s more traffic. he doesn’t mind, not like he used to. i’ve caught him smiling in the rearview mirror taking pictures, always taking pictures, you love the river. i do, it’s home. the last few blocks are always silent and if the sun is out -  it’s blinding. i like to think we’re taking a moment of silence to reflect on the kind of day we want to have. at least that’s what i do.

i’ve been thinking about the importance (is it?) of prayer for the past year or more. what is it, how to do it, why invest the time and energy? is it similar but not the same as mediation. because i can do that. do i have to pray to something or someone. should i do it the same time every day. i tried a few times but it felt awkward. so i stopped. realizing that it should come from within. it should happen because it feels right if not necessary. a craving, a desire, a reflex. deeply personal.

and there it was this morning. a shift. i didn’t want light up my face with the glow of my iphone or hurry to get outside for a run or walk. i wanted to linger and give thanks. it was weird. 100% weird. a fan of weird experiences so i sat there wondering what i would be thankful for. i tried to force a few: i’m thankful for my father, for my dear friends, for my home but nothing resonated. until i took a sip gulp of water. it revealed that i’m grateful for my body as it raced down my throat. without pause: thank you for functioning despite lack of sleep and often times food, morning runs, constant scrutiny, heartache, too many hours in front of a computer. thank you for carrying me through the days, weeks, years. and with that, i made a promise to be more kind. handwritten a neon pink post it: this is the only body you have, be kind.

they were waiting at the back corner table when i arrived. we shared stories about our day while devouring bowls piled high with warm pasta and smiles because of it. grateful for a. and uncle d. good night.

more sunday. i have no explanation for the shape of my eyebrows. they’ve always been that way. half there. or half missing? as self conscious as i can be about my appearance the state of my eyebrows doesn’t bother me. even though i’m the first to notice gorgeous brows and how they can truly lift a face - if shaped well. but i do have an explanation for that look. i knew. i’ve known but today it was matched with a strength and willingness. courage, perhaps. i walked around for the rest of the day with a smile THISBIG. who gives a shit if it was hard earned. it was a genuine smile for a solid reason. so good.

sunday. as always, religion found in the bookstore. and a large cup of tea. three boxes await the swoosh of a check mark. meaning, i made a decision and then acted on it. done in the sense of…moving on. restoring, renewing life. oh that’s where i’ve been hiding. this is who i am. that’s not to say i wasn’t visible or telling the truth for the past few years. but it is time to unmute the painfully quiet pockets of i believe - why don’t they believe. or why do i care if they don’t? solid questions to answer from caroline myss [borrowed from her book, anatomy of the spirit] : what do i like? what do i love? what makes me happy? what do i need for balance? what are my strengths? can i rely on myself? what are my weaknesses? why do i do the things i do? what makes me need the attention and approval of others? am i strong enough to be close to another person and still honor my own emotional needs? unrelated: in search of watermelon for lunch. keep moving.

valerie | amy winehouse + mark ronson | via thehuntbeautiful: yerawizardharry

rest in peace. this is not a surprise. this is deeply sad. tragic. her raw, natural talent. her obvious struggles. the first time i heard her voice - i felt it. a damn fine soul. her music is - soulful. i craved that feeling for days, week, months. it flooded my life in the best way. i was grateful that she was willing to share what lived in her core. that’s where she sang from. down deep. she got in there. talent doesn’t mean happiness or wellness. unfortunately. i wish i understood. i wish i had more words for so many sad things happening in the world. i will wish for surge of happiness, soon. collectively, we could use a boost. perspective.

attempting to lessen the gap
between what i think i should do
what others think i should do
what i’m doing
what i want to do
what i believe i can do
what i believe i should be doing
keep moving. saturday.

friday, i miss this space dearly. i miss them so fucking much. i don’t understand. most days i say so what. but today i’m hungry…for them. my people. are they?

tuesday, a note to my father last night.

dad,

please stop what you’re doing
and watch this video: little person
if you were a young father today
i suspect you’d create something similar
in place of all those film pictures you took of me
thank you for documenting my life
even if i cringe when i look at teenage years captured
i love to look at pictures from [redacted] street
perhaps that’s when we were most happy?
i knew we didn’t have everything (like some of my friends)
but i knew we had everything we needed
i can smell the cupboards in the kitchen while hunting for snacks
or stirring a pot of mom’s red sauce 
the birthday parties with everyone crammed into that tiny kitchen
the fallen pears from the tree i loved to climb
a tomboy with a love for ballet
oh the garden - sugar peas & black-eyed susans
snacking on cumbers from the vine
the smell of the fresh cut grass and your heineken after mowing
the smell of the rain as it ran down the driveway
the crickets in the cellar
remember i captured one - magic was his (her?) name
standing on the toilet, leaning over to see myself in the bathroom mirror
the pullout sofa
a tv from santa for our bedroom with ATARI
michael jackson & duran duran on the tape player (what?)
britsy! i miss her madly
she was the best dog, the best friend a little person could hope for
this isn’t to make you sad
but hopefully to remind you that we had really good times
the four of us
you and mom did the very best you could
i believe that
i don’t know what happened with mom
i don’t think i can figure that out right now
meaning, my heart can’t bear it
sometimes it takes honest quiet to hear
so, i will honor the quiet & take your advice:
keep moving…
i am so sorry that your father is struggling right now
my grandfather, but your father
i can imagine it’s scary for you, his son
because i can’t imagine a world without you
you’ve made sure to be a great father
you know when to be a friend, a mentor
thank you for daring to know me 
i love you, em

monday, posting to texturism is grooved deeper than i realized. i thought i would transition personal bits back to dear daily when i reopened it two weeks ago & yet it feels like effort. the effort is twofold: remembering to post here instead of there when i want to talk about my days aka FEELINGS. but when i remember or think to post here, i find myself editing. i am deeply private and ridiculously open. i’ve been accused of being immoderate. all of nothing. does it make sense to share things that my employer or a future employer might read, that would compromise my mother’s privacy, that a friend might take personally. i’m working on it. figuring out what to fill this space with…good night.

[more] sunday,

a weekend for moving
for running
for walking
for talking
for visiting with my grandfather
for holding his hand
for hoping he feels better soon
for late night stories with my grandmother
for sleeping but not enough
for tea perhaps too much
for getting closer 
left foot, right foot. hurdle.

sunday, words borrowed: we think that the point is to pass the test or overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. they come together and they fall apart. then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. the healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy. - pema chödrön

[more] thursday, navy blue corduroys on a 60+ degree day. transition has never been my thing. sometimes i avoid momentum. but once i’m there. i’m there. in it for keeps. for deep diving. for finding my place, places, person, people, job, jobs. new york.

thursday,

i don’t think i will ever
know
or get close
to 
it
and perhaps by design
it motivates
me
nudges
pushes
sucks wind
at times
but…
ultimately
begs 
me
to show up and wonder
what can i do today
her absence 
is mine to fill.