More daring, less worrying.
More empathy, less judgment.
More average, less perfect.
More yes, less no.
More patience, less frustration.
More acceptance, less control.
More forgiveness, less blame.
More stillness, less tumult.
More in-person, less screen-"talk."
More mirth, less brow-furrowing.
More listening, less advice-giving.
More questions, less unraveling.
More mono-tasks, less multi-tasks.
More humanity, less hostility.
More connection, less reception.
More being, less doing.
More kindness, less exasperation.
More compassion, less anger.
More change, less stasis.
More future, less past.
More you, less me.
More us, less them.
More love, less fear.
Speaking of ch, ch, ch, changes.
Yeah, so ... slightly leveled by the holidays, the one-year anniversary of my dad's death (oh, that trope again ... but he WAS my last immediate family member and one in a million at that), by transitions coming at us from every direction, by helping my eldest over the hurdle that is college apps—not that the fine print re financial aid and the like ever falls on the mother, by one/two/yes now three jobs. As life starts to feel beyond my control, I attempt—with increasing futility—to control more. It's an issue. Which is why I now know what "no crosstalk" means and why my college BFF's ever-trenchant, emotionally attuned lifemate, an opera singer who hails from Guatemala, recently said to me (we were in LA; it was late): "You're at the gate of releasing! Release!"
I can only assume he meant releasing the struggle ... the eternal agon.
And release, I will.
More AND less.