clouds move

a messy musing, sometimes thoughts are just that, thoughts.

I’ve had one of those weeks where my memories are buried somewhere in the ocean of my mind, and as the summer days pass by like seaweed drifting in shallow water surfaces, my recollection of what’s occurred is non-existent and all I have left of the days are blurry photos and empty mugs in my house that tell me I have existed and participated in a week of adulting and living.

I’m not too sure where to place the emotions that I’d buried deep, an anchor to the chest so that it didn’t bubble up to the surface, and be snatched by unwanted treasure seekers. And I know it doesn’t make much sense to be thinking things over, head buried in the sand worried about the lack of control that life has handed over to me lately.

To be honest, I’m not sure the words you’re going to get today because I’ve been mulling over how to get the thoughts in my mind onto the page, and I guess when you avoid doing the things that bring you life and unknowingly prioritise fear and anxiety, well, the wheels need more oil and are a little squeakier than they would be if they were properly cared for. I’m trying to hold space for the uncomfortable middle where I’m realising that all the dreams I held onto, and so closely to my chest, may no longer be what I want. When asked ‘Well, what do you want to do?’ My honest and most unfiltered answer is ‘I don’t know', because, I really don’t and my organised and goal-orientated self is struggling to hold the duality of having a dream, pursuing it long term, and living in the reality where the dreams my younger self held so passionately are drifting further away. Though the sentiment is the same the goal has shifted, and whilst trying to honour her, the me now has to move forward into reality.

But, within this, in giving myself the grace to exist in duality and being ok with knowing that I have no idea what I’m doing, I know that clouds move. It’s currently summer, but the sun has been hiding and refuses to show itself from its safe haven; the clouds move constantly, back and forth, somewhere else in the sky. They are always there and when I looked outside at the grey skies today I noticed their hurriedness, like pedestrians moving through London without refraining from their emotions or need to not be disturbed.

Clouds move.

Clouds will continue to move, like life in all its mess and stress, its beauty and joy; and even in my messy middle and quarter-life crisis, I know that in my lack of control, I can trust that the clouds will move and that all will be ok, even if it doesn’t feel like that right now. In time, maybe I’ll encounter the same clouds unknowingly, but they’ll be there, formed from the seas, rivers and oceans, water endlessly recycled with nothing going to waste. Such is life, nothing goes to waste.