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| I was not having a spiritual morning |
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| I hadn’t had my coffee yet |
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| I was in compression socks with a hole. Fully awake, not exactly thriving. |
Then the birds started.
Several of them. Outside my window. Extremely enthusiastic about whatever was happening out there.
And I stopped.
Because something landed that I didn't expect on a Sunday.
Birds only sing when they feel safe.
Not when everything is perfect. Not when the list is done. Just... safe.
And I stood there thinking about how long I'd been doing the opposite.
Waiting to soften until things settled. Waiting to breathe until the uncertainty passed. Making peace something I had to earn before I was allowed to feel it.
The birds were not waiting.
They were just in it. Fully. Loudly. Without apology.
So I took a step.
Then another.
Not because everything was resolved. Just because I decided to.
And something shifted in my chest that I can only describe as: oh. This is available right now.
I can name what I need. And I wait anyway.
I make softness a reward for finishing a list that never gets finished.
The birds aren't waiting for the list.
Neither should I.
