Butchblog

Some days I can’t get out of my own way, if you know what I mean. And then I end up sitting around, doom-scrolling, staring out the window, thinking self-defeating thoughts—stuff that I can’t change: bad decisions, regrets, times I acted poorly or not at all—you know, the past.

            But then, if I’m still able to function, I catch myself, a mental slap in the face, or even a real one, and I pull myself out of that comfy recliner and that miserable state of mind and get my skinny butt out of doors. It’s only then, when I take that first breath of fresh air, hear the rumbling of the surf, the chattering of the blue-jays, the cooing of the doves, that I remember what it means to be fully sentient.

            I walk, almost magnetically, toward the beach; all my anxieties vanish, no more thoughts of past failures or current invasive politics. I’m in that transcendent state of simply being. And that, I remind myself, is where I want to stay.