The daily quiet panic.Posted: February 26, 2015
The view from my balcony last night.
Today I was sitting at my writing desk, overlooking the snow, trying to translate all the beautiful things in my head into words, remembering Iran and Belize and all the people I love, and I grabbed my headphones and listened to this and buried my face in my hands and cried.
This happens almost every day. At least one moment of panic that I won’t get the chance to live as long as I need to live to do all the things I need to do.
I used to not want to be here. I wanted to be with my mother, wherever she was.
And now I think of how happy she must be, that I love life this much, to cry like this.