Sometimes . . .
I’ve been wanting to cry lately, and the tears won’t come.
There’s been so much change in my life, so much coming to terms with who I am and all that I haven’t yet accomplished, and all that I have yet to become. I haven’t let myself stop, I won’t. Not until I’ve gotten to a point where I feel like I’ve done a good job, and I don’t quite know when that will be.
This is a familiar feeling for me. Normally it happens as I pass through a state of confusion that feels like it will last for an eternity. It’s overwhelming and it’s hard for me to see what’s on the other side. I try to outrun it, to work faster, stay up later, prioritize more aggressively. I go go go, until there’s no place left to go.
Then, after I’ve exhausting all that I can do, I stop. Sometimes, I cry.
It happens while surrounded by trees on walks through the woods, or alone in the shower.
Today, it’s a poem that does it:
Now close the windows and hush all the fields;
If the trees must, let them silently toss;
No bird is singing now, and if there is,
Be it my loss.
It will be long ere the marshes resume,
It will be long ere the earliest bird:
So close the windows and not hear the wind,
But see all wind-stirred.
Now Close the Windows — Robert Frost
At Reboot, we read poetry and create a place for hard-working leaders to slow down, and even stop for a moment. Sometimes, they cry.
