What You Used to Know

You used to know things.

What time it was. What day it was. What season it was. What you were doing on a Thursday night.

You used to do things. You used to make plans and keep them. You used to salsa dance with strangers. You used to journal and meditate and eat lunch on the porch in the sunshine.

There was a time when you thought you were wise. A time when you thought you had answers. A time when you didn't fixate on nap times and the question "what's for dinner?" And isn't it always when we gain some semblance of perceived understanding that it's time to become a student again?

I no longer remember what I used to know. Tiredness has erased my memory and now I'm left knowing only what's right in front of me.

I know I love my children.

I know I can sing the shit out of The Itsy Bitsy Spider.

I know I'm scared for our nation, our planet and our humanity.

I know I can get anxious and am only halfway successful at hiding it.

I know I am utterly changed though not sure yet who I am becoming.

I know I'm a damn good diaper changer and salad maker. (Though not at the same time.)

I know I'm wrestling with new and old notions of womanhood, motherhood, feminine power, and autonomy all before I get my kids down for their morning naps.

I know I need to love more and worry less.

I know when I'm sad or lost that dancing always brings me back to center.

I know that though I crave certainty there's little I can control.

And I know, most importantly, that every day is an opportunity to take a breath, find a touch of kindness and, if need be, start again.

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