BALLOON, AND GAZEBOS OF TRUTH

Recently, I've had to hold on to some truths with the very tips of my fingers. Sometimes, those truths feel like gazebos in winter - out-of-season and blustering about in the storm, but nonetheless, still there, still pegged in, still true.

Then yesterday, as close to tears as I've been, I started to wonder whether I actually even like myself. It was the grammar thing that sparked me off; I had pomped in like a euphonium, nerding over things that don't really matter. It annoyed me that I'd let kindness get deafened by the brass section oom-pah-pahing about the third person plural. It annoyed me that I thought that was funny or witty. It annoyed me that I'm always quick to argue, quick to speak, and painfully slow to listen or be teachable. It annoyed me that I couldn't seem to get anything... right. I wished I could just get away from needing to be me for a while.

So this morning, when I woke up, I grabbed my phone and wrote a poem to try to capture how all that felt and where it led me.

Balloon

I'd love to fly away today
In an old hot-air balloon
To sail beneath the icy stars
And skip across the moon

I'd like to soar a thousand miles
And sing my freedom song
And feel that gentle, summer breeze
I've asked for, for so long

I'd race the surf on empty shores
I'd dance into the sea
Then fall at last to broken waves
If I could be so free

But work is calling, calling me
And life it sighs so sad
And no balloon is waiting for
Adventures to be had

And worst of all, I know too well
There is no sky for me
Those waves will not be able to
Remove myself from me

But of course, there are some gazebos of truth out there to hold on to, to hammer in, to shelter under. How do you teach yourself to like someone? Lots of ways, even if it's you! I need to start by listening to myself a bit better, then of course, by being kinder to me, and realising, remembering, being comfortable with who I am.

And this world is noisy. Social media is loud. People are on transmit much more than they're on receive, and I'm certainly not the only euphonium, pomping out there in the cacophany.

I reckon sometimes you just need to be still and listen.