on being fully alive and slightly untethered

lately i have been thinking about how strange it is to be fully alive.

not surviving.

not rebuilding.

not clawing my way out of something.

just alive.

the house is standing.

the love is steady.

the people i care about are breathing in their rooms.

and still there is this low hum inside me that says

pay attention.

i move through my days aware of their fragility.

the way morning light hits the kitchen counter and disappears by noon.

the way a voice can change with one piece of news.

the way a body can be strong and then suddenly not.

it is not anxiety.

it is awareness.

i do not feel unsafe.

i feel temporary.

and there is something both beautiful and unbearable about that.

i watch myself in small moments now.

washing a cup.

folding something tiny.

pausing in a doorway before entering a room.

and i think

this is it.

this is the living people talk about when they say it goes fast.

no orchestra.

no climax.

just breath stacked on top of breath.

i used to think intensity meant meaning.

if it was not overwhelming it was not deep.

if it did not consume me it was not real.

now i am learning that depth can be quiet.

that love can be steady without being dull.

that safety does not have to be earned through chaos.

and yet there are days when i feel slightly untethered.

not disconnected.

just hovering a few inches above myself.

like i am watching my own life happen and thinking

be here.

be here for this.

motherhood does that to you.

it cracks open your sense of time.

you see how quickly a body grows.

how fast a season turns.

how one year folds into the next without asking permission.

you become aware of inheritance.

not just genetics.

energy.

patterns.

tone.

you hear yourself speak and wonder which parts were taught and which parts are yours.

you soften your edges in places you once would have sharpened them.

you choose repair when pride would have been easier.

you notice the way your nervous system used to flare and you breathe through it instead.

but awareness does not erase longing.

there is a quiet hunger in me that is not about lack.

it is about expansion.

a desire to feel more without breaking.

to speak more without overexplaining.

to be seen without performing clarity.

sometimes i am tired of narrating myself.

tired of being the translator of my own interior.

i want to be understood in silence.

i want someone to look at me in the middle of an ordinary afternoon and recognize the weight i carry without me outlining it.

not because i am drowning.

but because being perceptive is heavy.

being attuned is heavy.

being the one who notices everything is heavy.

and yet i would not trade it.

i like that i feel deeply.

i like that i register shifts.

i like that i can sit in complexity without rushing to simplify it.

what i am learning is how to stay inside my own life without drifting into observation mode.

to let the moment land instead of analyzing it.

to let love be love without dissecting its architecture.

to let peace be peace without waiting for disruption.

there is grief in growing older.

not dramatic grief.

subtle grief.

the realization that every year you gain you also lose something invisible.

time with people who will not always be here.

access to versions of yourself that only existed for a season.

i think about my mother sometimes in the middle of mundane tasks.

how ordinary her days must have felt.

how unaware she may have been that they would become sacred in hindsight.

and it makes me gentler with my own ordinariness.

this is not a season of collapse.

it is not a season of reinvention.

it is integration.

all the selves sitting at one table.

the girl who craved intensity.

the woman who chose steadiness.

the mother who watches time like it is slipping through her hands.

the writer who wants to disappear and be witnessed at the same time.

i am not unraveling.

i am calibrating.

learning how to live inside a life that is good without searching for the next upheaval.

learning how to accept love that is calm without mistaking it for complacency.

learning how to exist without bracing.

some days i succeed.

some days i float a few inches above myself and have to gently return.

be here.

be here.

be here.

fully alive.

slightly untethered.

aware of the fragility.

aware of the beauty.

aware that this is the living.