A Perfectly Held Morning

This morning I took Harris for an early, people-free, dog-free, off-leash walk to the marina and the beach.

I was still carrying the thoughts with me—how I wish we lived on acres of land, how much more at home I feel with nature and more space.

We passed beneath the pines I love, the breeze whispering through their needles and cones.

The moon, still nearly full, hung large and low in the sky, though far above the water.

Clouds drifted like scattered thoughts, thin whips across the morning, turning from pink to orange to gold as the light came up.

The sound was almost completely still.

Ripples.

Slow movement.

The occasional swish-pop of a fish.

Then little schools of smaller fish flashing near the surface, bits of silver winking in and out, glittering the water.

As I walked toward the beach, dolphins surfaced near the end of the short pier.

Again and again.

They were so close I could tell the difference between their dorsal fins.

One curved differently—elongated, almost silly.

One surfaced a little farther out, more modest.

One disappeared and then returned somewhere else.

Harris stood beside me, looking back toward the beach.

A consummate sentinel.

The water barely moved.

The sky kept changing, filling slowly with the glow of early morning.

The air was crisp, fresh, gentle.

Nothing to understand.

Nothing to figure out.

It was enough.

I let all the other stuff go.

Again and again.

Maybe that is what I keep forgetting.

Some things do not need to be solved.

Some things are simply not mine to carry.

I keep asking why.

Why did they do that?
Why did this happen?
Why did someone change?
Why was someone cruel?
Why did I not see it sooner?
Why, why, why.

But asking why another person does what they do can become an infinite row of doors.

Open one and there is another.

And another.

Their childhood. Their fear. Their hunger. Their shame. Their ambition. Their wounds. Their version of the story. Someone else's shadow falling across theirs.

There may never be a final room.

Meanwhile, I am the one standing in the hallway.

Still carrying it.

Anger can be like that too.

Hold it long enough and eventually the hand carrying it is the one that burns.

I am tired of carrying.

So this morning I stood beside the sound with Harris while dolphins surfaced and disappeared.

Again and again.

The moon faded.

The clouds turned gold.

Fish flashed silver beneath the water.

And nothing asked me to understand it.

It all just was.

Maybe I can allow more things to simply be.

I’m letting go.

Again and again.

The system will move as it moves.

My responsibility is not to change it, but to notice it, say not mine, and choose my distance from it.

Less contact.
Less friction.
More peace.