I'm writing this from my kitchen, listening to Whitney's "Golden Days" and making myself a kimchi soup the same riotous red as crushed chilis and feeling heart full from a weekend visit with a best friend and soft because it's been a long, hard, luscious year and sad because I miss loving someone. I don't know if any one of these feelings is strong—they are mostly simmering in the pit of my soul as I stir my soup and savor my tunes and wonder about life and how it is going to go.
When you are a twenty something living in an attic and working four jobs, no one tells you this time of life is where it's at. You graduate into so much newness and it's really exciting and really freaking rough.
But I am starting to want to make this sometimes sleepy and sometimes succulent and sometimes sorrowful synapse of time lush with life. Even on the days when remembering to turn off the oven is an accomplishment. So when I am feeling anxious, when I am wishing I didn't have to work so damn hard to make [Loam/SWM/job/romance] happen, when I am wondering if I'll ever buy a bed frame or stop missing someone, I say to myself "this is a golden day." Not necessarily because it's jam packed with joy, but because each interaction, however tiny, is illuminating the kind of lessons that I need to learn if I want to grow more deeply into my person.
I love life more when I live inside a golden day. It teaches me to look for luminosity and that's so vital as we navigate all the bumps and beauties of being a little speck of stardust.