“The scenic ideals that surround even our national parks are carriers of a nostalgia for heavenly bliss and eternal calmness.” – Robert Smithson
I am not certain about my own nostalgia nor others expectations, but I am perhaps too aware of my body as a pool of water trying to connect to other bodies of water.
The barrier is the problem.
My husband told me to stop apologizing. I just can’t. I do it all the time, for no reason, for the spirit of awkwardness, in a desperate attempt to find intimacy, or community.
It’s embarrassing to admit this.
Often, I wonder if my overwhelming supply of sorrys is the result of needing forgiveness for something larger, more horrible that I did in a past life.
The sorry is the habitual residue that holds me in.
My body of water.
My body of sorrys.
I am thinking now of the board game: Sorry! and playing it on the floor of my great-grandmother’s house. The objective of Sorry! is to be faster than any other player, and to cockily or gracefully emit “Sorry!” when plowing past someone.
I might start to think of my sorrys differently from here on out.
I don’t even know if I believe in past lives, but I do love Shirley Maclaine and the whismy of people who defiantly believe and actively strive to communicate with their guts.
I wonder if this is where our love affair with the sea comes from– the longing to spiral out.