Day 34: One day I’ll write “When I Was Anxious”

From time to time, more frequently now, I feel what it’s like to go without it.

There’s a sense of freedom, yes. And self-worth, sure (more like there’s no such thing and why you worrying about it anyway?). Its power, its authority slide away, are seen for what they always were: the shame and fear that stream forth from the violent maw of a narrative as false as… well, we’ll stop there.

But it’s the openness! Ah, yes! The discovery of a world too large. The sweet, sweet context in which all of it is so very small, so provincial, so fun to look at.

And I find it all just perfectly compares to the feeling I get when I realize that this — these words we share, this glass to my lips, this beating in my chest — none of it could ever have been, had I not, years ago, left something behind.

(This is Day 34 of a 100-day project. For more about When I Was Mormon, read the introductory post. To access older posts, visit the archive.)