The It’s-Going-To-Be-Okay Poem

on February 25, 2017

Lately, my brain resembles the fuzzy pile you compile from your dryer’s lint-screen. Or, possibly more accurately: the ensuing fiery explosion that occurs when you don’t clean your lint-screen every 24 hours (according to my landlord, at least). Which is to say, I’ve been a bit frazzled.

So I’ve decided to write this post, which will maybe-possibly turn into a weekly-monthly-somethingly series, about the positives.  The shiny, sparkly, twinkly moments. With that in mind, here is my week in moments…


Greasy french fries during a long bus journey, the fact that McDonald’s milkshakes always taste like bananas no matter what flavor you ask for. The seven year old who sat by me during the five hour Megabus journey from London, her huge pink rockstar sunglasses. Clean bed sheets, waking up to raindrops on my windowpane. The press of the coffee sifter, my first pour of milk and how it sinks and then spirals to the top of the cup. Satisfaction of automatically navigating through the grocery store, at last. Yoga. For the first time in three months. Pure smile and stretch and joy, joy, joy, and the wrist: not pain free but not pain-full either. Runs through the park, fast breaths and the sun setting over the ocean. Cornwall in the distance, as it always is. Soft bouquet of pink and white roses on my desk, wilting and curling at the petal-edge, loved. The pounding of feet on squash courts, the squeak and turn and ping of the ball. And losing squash: this new feeling of resilient happiness, of being free from Being The Best, in this one thing at least. Curry Thursdays and Thatchers cider and the chatter of a mish-mash of friends. An unplanned bowl of honeycomb icecream, shared, on the walk back from the bus. Podcasts for the commute, new angles on life. Returning, to hugs and memories and caring, at my old job. The group act of chopping cilantro. Sinking my fingers into a bowl of washed lentils. A little girl who I’m playing with, running around the ping-pong table, giggling. She turns to me and says “you can be the mommy and daddy” and I say “okay let’s go to the pizza store” and we sit on the wooden floor eating our imaginary pizzas piled high with our favorite toppings.

Sarah xx

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