The things we do not need
Tonight, I am not afraid to go fishing in my grandpa’s old blue fishing boat that leaks a little (sometimes feels like a lot) and catch nothing. Not afraid to say, “I love you,” and certainly not too afraid to speak to God who I hardly hear anymore but still think about often. Not afraid to say it doesn’t make sense, not afraid to say you did. And I’m not afraid of the way I miss my childhood couch so much I cannot remember which roommate took it where. Can’t remember where I put my phone, or the number of the people I miss without it. And I didn’t write down any street addresses anywhere, no time to go to the post office anyway. But at least I’m not afraid to speak to the strangers on the other side of the counter the way I once was. And I’m no longer afraid to risk a bit of myself when I call a stranger my neighbor. Not afraid to delete the 578 unread emails offering me only deals and no honesty. Not afraid to say “No, thank you,” when the lady offers me a bag for my things at the store and I suddenly trust my hands to carry all this home.
