The Station. A Happy Day.

Welcome to my 200th post, completely unintentionally!

Sometimes I think I only post about anxious, stressful, crazy days. Just because I think it’s nice to know you’re not alone in those days, in those feelings. But then I find myself not wanting to share the good days, the ones that are good for no reason other than just … waking up on the right side of the bed. Those days when no one can really get under your skin, where everything that could be annoying is just funny. Zen days when you find perfect peace in shavasana, in relaxation, at the end of yoga.

This evening I’m remembering to relish the happy day, the good run, the expansive quietness, the soft, lyrical music.

There’s this poem, long quote, short essay that I’ve been meaning to share really for a long time. It’s called The Station. One of my fellow lineheads, counselor, that summer gave this to me and a few other women she had worked with. That summer I was at a station—a really good, full, happy moment in my life. Sometimes I think about this piece, during good moments, on good days, during good months, and I am sure that there are lots of stations that we hit as we travel through life, where everything feels … right.

I try to remind myself to not rush through each station, because who knows how long I’ll be stopped there before I start up moving through life again.

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