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Sunday Stillness


Sunday Stillness

Megan Harrod

In the winter, Sunday afternoons are for sleeping and Mondays are for traveling. I spend a lot of time in solitary and these moments seem to serve my soul well. When I first started this job, I found it challenging to find comfort in stillness on Sundays. I wanted to be everywhere, at every moment, doing everything. That's kind of my personality. Some say it's "too much"...tell me about it, I've lived with myself for the last 34 years. 

Recently, I've had conversations with friends about dating and relationships and all of the complexities, the joys, the bullshit and beyond. We reflected that we wished dating were more like it once when our parents and grandparents were younger. Less noise. No internet. Fewer options. Simple. No need to get anxious about unanswered text messages, worry about what that emoji meant, or game-playing. We even schedule calls now to fit into our busy lives. When you really think about it, we kind of lived in a fucked up world right now. It's not easy. 

Sure, there's good along with the not-so-good...but there's a lot of weird shit. I've written about it before. This isn't the first time. I came across this quote the other day and it resonated with me. 

Dear Woman,
Sometimes you’ll just be too much woman.
Too smart,
Too beautiful,
Too strong.
Too much of something that makes a man feel like less of a man,
Which will make you feel like you have to be less of a woman.
The biggest mistake you can make
Is removing jewels from your crown
To make it easier for a man to carry.
When this happens, I need you to understand
You do not need a smaller crown —
You need a man with bigger hands.
— Michael Reid

That's the truth. In the past, I've apologized for being "too much"—made myself smaller to meet the needs of someone smaller. That's not fun and it's not acceptable. A friend sent this recent New Yorker article and I laughed and cringed at the same time, while I drove through the Swiss Alps last Sunday. Mostly, I listened to it and I thought, "This is life. This is our reality." Wow. Give it a listen. It's definitely indicative of modern day dating. 

I thought about it. Sat in stillness and silence. With myself. On a Sunday. And just reflected. 

Life moves at a fast pace on the road in the winter months. Weekends are nonstop and overstimulating and adrenaline and excitement keep me up at night. Sundays are quiet and lonely. But they're equally relaxing and necessary. 

Here's what my reflection entailed...I travel through some of the most lovely, romantic places all winter long—most of them solo. And though that's nice, it's also strange. Life is beautiful beyond measure, at the same time, odd beyond measure. And that's what makes it so special, and worth living. Fully and wholly. Not half-assed and scared.

After weeks of not crying—a practice uncommon for me—I was talking to my mental coach the other day and I just broke down. It felt so good to cry. a burden unloaded. I was reflecting on my last relationship thinking about—now months later and with a clear head (Lehké hlavě in Czech)—how happy I am to be in the place I am now and realizing how fucked up the state of my being was for far longer than I should have allowed. And this is what I realized...

I forgot what it was like to feel someone's hand connect with mine in public. 

I forgot what it's like to communicate honestly and openly with another human—not just with myself. 

I forgot what it was like to actually be seen and understood. 

I forgot what it was like to be someone's last thought before bed and first thought in the morning. 

I forgot what it was like to be fluid with another soul. Moving together like poetry. 

And all of those forgotten moments flooded my soul like a thousand gallons of water. For a moment, I drowned in those moments and then they spilled out in the form of teardrops. And for the first time in weeks, I cried. But I didn't cry for me. I cried for humanity. What a pity that humans aren't able to express themselves or their emotions. How sad that humans aren't willing to allow themselves to feel vulnerable. 

And here I am. Expressing myself. Feeling. Living. Finding gratitude for the ability to dream in color and shine brightly.

And that's the best and most I can do. 

Those tears?

They weren't tears of sadness. 

They were tears of joy.