Spain! The most beautiful place. Sea all around me, wine flowing, the language I love, my sweet mother; not a care in the world. Yet… I couldn’t get out of bed some of the days. I’d cry on and off, all day somedays. From walking down the streets, to laying on the couch, trying to hold back tears as I ordered a tea or said hello to the guard. I get it. I get the feeling of ‘what the heck is wrong with me! Why am I so overwhelmingly sad?! I shouldn’t be sad. I shouldn’t feel this way. Why am I even sad? What the fuck is wrong with me?’

For once, I am picking me. I am tearing my softness away from you, from the warmth of your arms, in order to find someone else who will put me above their ache. 

I am leaving so I can find someone who will search my eyes for the questions. 

Who will find my laugh lines and ask the stories behind them. 

Maybe instead I should replace the grasping and grabbing with tenderness. Actual tenderness. Tenderness that calms me. Instead of being so stressed that I’m running late for work and taking it out on the coffee lady (who has no control over my life either) maybe I should just breathe and be kind to her. Maybe instead of taking out all my annoyance on my roommate because I’m stressed over a school project, I should ask her how she really is. 

My yoga instructor always says, at the end of each class, “The light in me honors the light in you. We are here on this earth to heal ourselves and then help heal each other.” We are all so connected. We need each other so desperately. If I actually realized how deeply I’m connected to the lady who makes my coffee, or my bartender, or sister, or the black kid who was recently shot, or the cop that just died in Alaska, it would change everything.