The Dimensionality of Air

I adore a good foggy morning. Walking through the mist, damp fingers trace my cheekbones and droplets cling, running through my hair. However, the air, no matter how thick it seems, doesn't impede me. I do not trip or stumble or battle my way along. Yet thousands of feet above the ground at hundreds of miles an hour, the air becomes a solid thing with valleys and walls, dips and waves and swells that shake the very frame of a plane like a child's toy.

As I watched the wing of our plane wobble in the mass of churning clouds, my stomach clenched every time the aircraft suddenly dropped (this was an eight-seater tiny plane) and I was struck by how insubstantial air usually is - and how thick and heavy and hard it had become. A distinct parallel experience to my emotions.

This past week has been a tornado. I hadn't seen my husband in 45 days. In the span of seven he flew home, we buried a dear friend, lost another friend's mother, learned of a cancer diagnosis of someone cherished, and threw a party with a hundred guests in our home that had been planned for over a month. (once you mail out that many invitations, there is no canceling) My emotions heaved and spun; once air, now calcified. They effected everything from my physical health, pain level, quantity of sleep, mothering skills, patience, and the amount of alcohol I consumed. How powerful feelings can be, completely against one's will.

So I've run away. Two weeks on an 'out of season' island in a beach house with no neighbors, no children, no pets. Just my husband, a fireplace, and the wind. Sometimes the tumult of life requires silence and some recalculation. Friendships have changed, trust altered, hearts broken. Here's to taking time away....to get yourself together.

14 days. This house. Nantucket. Heaven.