A stream of nows.

It has been some time since I sat down, shoulders squared, to write freely in this space. I am unsure if I ever have. Usually my posts are planned, carefully even, being the perfectionist I am. I can't seem to kick that version of me to the curb -- it keeps around like an annoying hangnail. My whole life, right now, thirty-seven years from now. Edges are folded crisp, handwritten lists are immaculate -- else I write them again. Paragraphs read thrice to really comprehend -- I must confess here that I do understand the first time, second and third times are to feel. Words need to hit my bones or else I'm uninterested.

This mentality is more foe than companion and is not something I can just rid of. My childhood, adolescence, teenage years, were filled with straight A's and enough test anxiety to shake a stick at. Now, as a young woman busy busy with planning and wedding details, the fusspot bubbles up inside of me -- an overenthusiastic Yorkie just so impatient to get everything done, now. Perfectly. Right. Now.

But I made a vow to myself long ago to be driven by as much elegance and grace as I can. To bestow kindness to others, yes of course, but to not forget about myself. Remembering to eat meals and breathe breaths. To not fight that urge to collapse on our perfect little sofa with a cable knit throw, some tea, swirling daydreams, and a good book -- giving a mental nod to the always unexpected, always warm epiphany: all we have is time!

And I am okay, at this time, right now.