The internet and its comments never fail:
“Do you ever think about how scary it is that Earth is just a floating ball in the middle of space… but we still have credit scores?”
Isn’t that some crazy business?
Today was a day of catching up on the buggery things that usually get swiped away—kind of like unwanted dates on a dating app, right? Anyway, I returned two phone calls, sent two emails, and emptied the blower’s gas reservoir twice. And this state I’m in—a chill, productive, positive mood—feels like me at my best. The me I’m always striving to be.
I’m pretty sure heading straight into the heart of shame had something to do with it.
In my 9 a.m. counseling session, I confronted a feeling that’s been consuming me—a drowning, panicked, helpless sensation. It pulls me out to sea without a life jacket, and drags me under without an air tank. I lose myself in its sun-eclipsing shadow and become zombified, reduced to stutters and silence, churning beneath its unrelenting grip.
I feel it now, even as I sit here, safely above its tar pit. Just looking at it—hearing its shrieks, sensing its desperation—I tremble. But I got this. I do. And holy wow, do I feel the benefits of facing it head-on, of studying its form. What once felt like a cage now feels like an opening, a possibility.
Is this how death works? Not in the physical sense, but in the way philosophers and dreamers speak of it. The way tarot readers and mystics describe it—the shedding of an outdated belief, the painful transition from something unnecessary onto greener pastures. But make no mistake: it is hard. It requires every last fiber of your energy until you think you have nothing left to give. And then, from somewhere, something comes.
I see Jackie and Shadow, the famous eagles in that endlessly monitored nest, have hatched two chicks. A third is still pipping, breaking its way into the world. The imagery sticks with me—this tiny eaglet pecking, squirming, exerting its final reserves of energy. Fighting to be born. To be alive. To begin again.
If it’s hard, that’s good. It should be.
Nothing is worth fighting for more than that first breath when you thought you were taking your last. Relish it. Burrow into it. And do everything you can to hold onto its beauty.
Perhaps I’ll see you here tomorrow. I hope so.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 