in the heat of hydrangea season

in the heat of hydrangea season, i am standing with my hands full of bitterness. there is so much that i don't understand, and for years, i've been trying to learn to live comfortably in the questions, to take solace in the uncertain.

growing pains crop up in discreet ways; they manifest as speeding tickets, missed appointments, and inadequate exercise (it's not like we play in fields anymore, or get brought to gymnastics).

sometimes, the opposite is true: growing pains are so large that they're impossible to see clearly—the structure and momentum lost upon graduation, or the absence of people i love. this kind of pain creates a ripple effect that's difficult to trace back to a root cause.

even on the lucky days, when i arrive at the root—which is always uncertainty of the future and my fear of change—i find myself overwhelmed with the weight work that living entails. it is easy to spend my invaluable hours withering on the internet, grappling with envy, and worrying over things i can't control (yes! the oldest story ever).

when i look at all the pieces of the puzzle that i can control—move, flip, twist, and maybe even throw away—i realize i've been disoriented. i've been chasing all sorts of shiny, pretty accolades just because they're shiny, without doing the real work. and i don't mean composing, or writing, or creating, i mean what comes before even that: listening, observing, studying. digging around in the dirt. being in touch with what is small and inaudible and often missed—looking directly under my nose.

in a field that is so wide and winding

a field that has no clear and obvious path

a field that tends to feel like selling out

and crashing through deadlines with brute force

is the only possible way to find what it is we're looking for,

running and running without any concept of where

we want to go—just forward, this insatiable desire

to go forward—

i want to stop and listen. i want to turn around

and meander. zoom in. focus my lens

i want to be small, flexible, meaningless,

somewhere quiet, unbothered, unconcerned.

somewhere with complete faith

in my ability to piece together

what i can control

small daily and one at a time

i will follow each rabbit down

its strange and winding path