There are good days, and then, there are the bad ones. And today, with the first few winds of autumn, grey clouds bringing in the cold rain to my skin; is a bad day. Smallest things, be it writing a short e-mail, doing my chores, or watching Netflix, feels like a lot of work. Peace, it’s disappeared into nothingness; behind the clouds and the cold. What’s the shortest day one can have without doing much? Can I wake up, have my müsli, and go back to sleep? Is that where my peace is? Into the escape of slumber? So many things to do, so many tasks; however, time is running out and I don’t feel the warmth of alarm in my skin. Bad days are not always a result of too much work, or missed deadlines, or an angry boss. Bad days surface like a piece of land where the sea used to be, when it was full. The waves receded, reminding us of what’s under. But can the ground underneath stay forever hidden? It’s going to crack, away from the water that hides it, and bleed into itself. Bad days are a reminder for us to be kinder to ourselves. Life, as is, is hard, and slow, and bitter. We smile, we let our minds be engaged and distracted at the same time to get away from all the impending tasks, and chores of our daily survival. That assignment, that review that needs to be written, the gym membership that needs renewal, the laundry that needs washing, and the mind that needs some peace. Instead of hiding what’s underneath my waves, I have decided to actively nurture and nourish the ground. Even when it is hidden and is not cracking under the hot merciless sun. Not waiting for the waves to recede and reveal the bed which holds my sea. Instead diving deep and exploring what makes my bad days, bad. The slumber of my emotions and slow burning of time, that churns and cooks my bad days. Interestingly, days, when they are good, make me forget that I need peace. I can go on and on, and on, without rest, without comfort, without a blink of eye towards the coming storm. The belief that I will get through mounts and surrounds me. Whereas, when the nasty sisters of my good days arrive, I am struggling in the dark to find some light within me to guide my next minute. But, where is this going? What’s the conclusion of my piece here? Expression, I guess. Putting it all into words, and acknowledging it. The waves, the cracking earth, the struggle behind; all of it.
