I feel subpar.
The measurement comes from a shadowy figure that jumps out at me while I’m doing the most ordinary things—gardening, laundry, work tasks. It’s always there, ready to assess, to grade, to find me lacking.
My nervous system feels shot. It lives just a quarter inch beneath the surface, never fully settling. Always on guard.
Vigilant.
“Aye aye, Captain—we’ll keep watch.”
And part of me wants to shut it off completely, just to feel what real rest might be like.
I catch myself thinking I’m never going to rest again.
That thought scares me.
But even as it’s happening, there’s a quieter awareness underneath it. A noticing. That I’ve felt this before. That my body and mind get loud like this sometimes. That “always” might not actually mean always.
I still feel subpar. But I’m here, noticing it. Not disappearing into it completely. And for now, that counts as something.
That said, I did nurse an exhausted hummingbird back to health. The poor thing got stuck in the garage, bumping into the ceiling, helicoptering out of control. When he finally gave up and perched on the trim above the door, Dave grabbed a feeder, and I grabbed a cloth, and together we guided his tiny, limp body close enough to dip his beak into the sugar water.
One minute later—hasta la vista. Now that felt like a win.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 