Most days I wake up worried. There are loud thoughts in the night disrupting my sleep as if I'm going to arrive late to think about them.
Like a child whose sibling is in the wrong, I pray, looking to God as if the worries are misspeaking. I look to God and point at the thought, questioning it's existence.
I worry about the first of every month, utilities and car insurance, even when they're paid. I teeter in my mind between an ocean view apartment and being back in urban life. I put strikes against myself for being a woman in a male dominated business, being assertive and clear, for having emotions. I haven't groomed the dog.
I sit here with more blessings than my own mother ever had in her entire life. The apartment is warm, oatmeal is cooking, my baby girl is in the shower. My eyes well up as I think of my older daughter who seems happy and calm. I look at the ocean, respectful of it's power and beauty. The sunlight rises and slowly reveals my life intact.
As I kneel at the side of my unmade bed, I give thanks for my younger daughter who woke beside me and told me about her dream, "Mom, did you know the debris from Japan making it's way here?" I am grateful for certain things that have gone away, people and projects. I am reminded that whatever is missing in my life will not exist unless I create it. It starts with a thought, a desire. I have what I need. I am more than good enough.