Each Thursday, join me for my once a week practice, Through the Glass Backwards. The title of this series came from my former commute into work, when I took the light rail downtown. Even though I tend to get motion sick easily, I usually ended up facing backwards, watching as the city slips by. Now that I work from home, these vignettes will be a 200 word glimpse of things I see as the world outside me lives its life, and I am fortunate enough to see, but not necessarily from the light rail window.
Baltimore’s late summer humidity is clinging to my arms, even as there is a light breeze, reminding me that autumn is around the corner. I don’t see any school buses, but I know that school starts back up today, students returning to classrooms across the city, the country. My own book learning starts in just over a week, but as my teal and white shoes hit the pavement, I keep learning.
I decide my route, and keep thinking I’m going too slow, why? Shouldn’t I be able to do this much more quickly than my watch says?
I keep forgetting to breathe, keep forgetting to look at the blue sky with white cotton clouds. The internal voice shouting at me won’t stop. It keeps telling me that I’m a slow runner, what makes me think… it’s there I can catch myself.
What makes me think I can do this? How about all the other times I’ve done it? And I recognize the fear that is trembling under my breastbone, thinking that this will be the one time that I can’t.
I look down at my feet and see a pine cone, perfect as it is, dark brown contrasting sidewalk pavement.
All the things you’d say – they were never true, never true.
Adele, “Set Fire to the Rain”