I’m sucking on a chocolate square, staring at my monitor, wondering what’s fine. Fine is an interesting word. Much usage. Not to put too fine a point on it, but fine is often a lie, an omission at best. Most of my fines come with a disclaimer.
“I’m fine apart from the gnawing agony of reality and the horrifying realization that time is finite unlike the never-ending nightmare of anxiety that comes while figuring out how to live while I still have time. Also, my shoulder is killing me. Nice weather, though, isn’t it?”
I mean, how real need we be with people we will likely never see again? Real friends don’t ask how you are, they pinpoint, “How’re you handling — ?”
… the loss of my father? Alright. But today I saw a man who looked like a young version of him and it took the air right out of my lungs.
… returning to work full-time? I’ve passed all the headless chickens.
… Homophobic chicken eliminating chicken salad from the menu? I’m recovering. I do eat more yogurt.
(What, you don’t grieve petty shit?)
… the upcoming wedding?
We all have worlds behind the fine.
There are also a lot of things better than fine. I don’t know why I’m still wearing jeans and a bra and jewelry, but I’m in a warm, cozy spot and my animals gather around me like I am a veritable Snow White. I have squares of chocolate, yellow tulips in a vase, and not a single pressing matter to attend to.
I’m convinced no one in the history of the world has ever been more in love than I am. I love how in the winter, The Mister grows his face coat and every year it’s snowier and snowier. He loves how I get cold and let him hold me a lot. I love how the day begins with him, wordless and warm. I love how at the end of the day, he smooths me out like a cat whose fur’s been brushed the wrong way.
Sometimes, when the things don’t feel fine, or we don’t feel fine about the things, we have to remember all things, fine and rough, come and go. And supposedly, everything is fine as it should be, just as it is. It’s hard to remember that, to experience gratitude when the complaints are so much easier to access.
Still, life does its best to show us reminders — small kindnesses, blips of beauty, a knowing smile, a word of encouragement, a hearty laugh.
It’s like a Spirograph. It feels random and jerky while you’re doin it, but at the end, it’s sacred beauty. I keep hope, and that’s fine enough.