As I sit here on a quiet Easter morning mulling over frenetic egg hunts of the past, I find myself struggling to overcome inertia, to seize this day, to make it something new. I really liked the old. It was full of love and belonging. The new is a wide open expanse of cold disconnection, and I don’t like it.
I have somehow failed myself. I have tried to live my life in a way that prioritized the people in it, and yet I now find myself mostly on my own. How did this happen? Was it always only me? Were the participants in the mad parade being pulled along by my fervor, all the while planning their escape?
The thoughts of getting up early to make Easter treats eventually evaporate like the Oregon fog, and I sigh as I realize that Easter dinner plans for two just don’t seem worth the effort. It’s a new day, for sure.
How I long for the old.