Am I constantly listening to what I say? I maybe should, but it’s not always just my ideas, or at least I don’t think they are. I still have to take care of them.

Problems have changed me, and I have tried to change which problems appear. Or I may have just gotten used to them, and that’s not as special as it sounds. Age works by itself.

So what did I do?

At first, I was afraid; I was petrified.

There are a whole lot of things that happen that I don’t seem to get along with. Whether they are scary or not, it is more than just a feeling. I think I know what will happen, and even though I have been wrong so often, this time, I know for sure it will be difficult. Or I expect it to be simple and enjoyable; I just cannot know before.

While I should not run away, I could be smart enough to go to where it hurts or overwhelms me with pleasure. I have the chance to be alert, but there is no need to panic: I think I can fix it if I pass.

What have you done for me lately?

When I know and see what happened, I do not need to despise myself for that. I might have been suboptimal, but I am not helping myself by despising myself for despising myself. But indeed, it happened before.

Sometimes, it is enough to remind myself that all that is will not stay. Sometimes, it is already enough to see how everything fades. Sometimes, removing myself is a requirement; I am not cowardly running away if I protect myself and others.

As soon as the storm settles, another sudden round is possible. Or is there another way?

Try a little tenderness.

But there might be a chance to start from the solution and expand it. Why should I stop here lazily?

I am okay, and I should share what’s left. That’s the right time to give away. That’s bare, but it also feels good, but that is not the point.

But when is it enough? And is it ever enough? I don’t feel like keeping track and praising myself. I skipped this far too often to be proud of it.

Maybe there is more. Maybe I do not need to stop.

If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere.

It seems possible to remain here at least for a moment, and that moment may be extended. Even if it seems to end, I remember what happened before. It is not easy, and maybe it is not always wholly automatic. But it works. It really does.

I observe the kindling fire, cook the comforting meal, and fetch the blanket. And there is always something to do. I should not forget about this body of mine, lest I fall and irritate myself. It’s my job alone.

I am quite sure that everyone has seen this happen sometimes, and that makes everything possible, even when forgotten.

You are always welcome.