Something About This Summer

I’m waiting to feel it on my skin. The warmth. The softness that comes when summer finally arrives. But it hasn’t reached me yet. New York is still cold, and maybe I am too, still waiting for something to open.

Something is shifting. I feel it in the body before I have words for it. In the way I sleep now, lighter than before, waking at hours I didn’t use to know. In a new sensitivity to things, light, sound, and the weight of a conversation. In the way I see the world, and in the way I see myself.

I don’t have a name for it yet. I’m not sure I need one.

My children are choosing high school, college, and new paths that don’t have a clear shape yet. And I watch them standing at those edges, a little uncertain, a little brave. I recognize something in that. Because I’m standing at an edge too. A different one. Mine.

I find myself collecting. A moment at the table. A laugh. The way things look right now, before they change. I didn’t decide to start collecting. I just noticed one day that I was.

I’m looking for quiet. Not silence something deeper. The kind that doesn’t ask anything of you. I want it, and I’m afraid of it at the same time. Because quiet means being there, just me, without the motion.

I’m tired. Not from last night. For a long time of holding.

And still, I move. Studio. Sessions. Groups. The life I chose and keep choosing.

And somewhere inside all of that, I’m looking for the woman who can walk into the unknown without needing to control it. Who can believe something good is waiting there.

That part is the hardest for me.

But I’m walking anyway.

I’m waiting for the warmth.

I think it’s almost here.