There has always been a part of me not here.
If you’d ask me where that part has spent the better part of my life, I’d say, I think it’s been waiting to arrive somewhere.
It feels like this part has been sitting on a train for the past 20 years, waiting to reach its destination.
I’ve checked that I have all my personal belongings, and my hands white knuckle the heavy luggage in anticipation of my arrival. I don’t want to leave anything behind, so vigilance feels imperative.
And for some reason, I think it’s one of those frantic stopovers where hordes of people will be getting off at the same time, so I’ve prepared myself for some sharp elbowing upon exit…
And this is how I lived. Waiting to arrive.
And if you asked me what the destination was, I’d say, well, a better ‘me’ of course. A whole me. A final state of being where I get to leave the confinement of my old self.
Perhaps you know this too, the difficulty of being fully attentive to life when there’s a piece of you that feels solely responsible for getting you off the train.
