CLOSET SPACE

Why is it that we worry?

That one day you're kicked back drinking a Landshark and eating a burger and coloring picture pages with IV and the next you are literally swimming in a sea of questions and "what if this fades?" and "what if he hurts me?" and "where do I put a pair of loafers in this closet?" - because sharing closet space in a historic home is SERIOUS business.

I mean, folks, damn near panic attack yesterday that required reinforcements from Arica Angelo, Haynes and my Grace.

I don't know any other way to be but all in. ALL. IN.

My whole life has been a constant dedication of every ounce of my soul to someone, something. School. Work. A child. Volunteerism. Family. And before I even know it, I'm off to the races, throwing my entire self into a project of some sort, a person of some sort, myself of some sort.

The double edge?

That I find a passion within myself that never ceases to amaze me. I'm not afraid to say that I'm proud of that, as faulty as it can be at times (see: working for a crap magazine and shady people).

The edge that cuts? I don't take the time to think things through or to look at the checks and balances. I just...GO.

And so, with this. I literally stopped in my tracks yesterday. And question upon question pounded down on me, crushing my lungs and bringing me to tears over a damn piano that I truly care nothing about, over an email about an election that I have little vested interest in outside of my mother, over a big question that I was finally able to whittle down and put my index finger on.

And so I circled around this question, always returning to the same notion: the magic is in the surprises. In the person I never expected to meet on February 18, 2012. In the person whom my child adores and asks me questions about. In the person who needs to be trusted - and in the person who needs to learn to trust.

That would be him.

And that would be me.