Suitcases

I spend so much time in my head I find it’s the one place that can make me feel the safest yet the most vulnerable all at the same time. It’s like a suitcase full of emotions you may or may not need on any given occasion.  They (once again…who is THEY?!) say time heals all wounds. I used to say this to people (maybe I became one of those annoying they people) and now I realize I only said it because I didn’t have the slightest idea of what they were going through and my empathy toward them just wanted them to know that I was there. I find I yearn for some sort of empathy that isn’t from a phone call from the east coast or a text message from the west coast.

I have absolutely no idea how to pick up pieces and start over. I have an overwhelming abundance of blessings in the various forms of family, friends, vacation time, flexible hours, and space. I find myself slightly empty though. Not the kind of empty that I NEED someone else to fill my half empty glass but empty in the form of purpose.  I have this longing to feel a belonging to someone, a purpose of helping, loving, and feeling life with them.

“I wanna hang onto something
That won't break away or fall apart” – Something Corporate

I write so I can go back and read it later, like a book that I have read ten times before with well-worn pages, ear marks, and possible highlights. After it floats around in my head I have to get it out on paper so I can read it, analyze it, understand it and move on. It’s seemingly the only way I can take that piece of baggage and stop lugging it day to day. I think this is why I love books so much, they are full of other people’s suitcases.