I wish there were a way to communicate the feeling when the words stop. When the constant turmoil of seeing, comparing, judging, assessing, planning, and noting for later just fades away, and nothing matters but the moment. Plans were made to bring me to this place. Obstacles arose, were assessed, and were overcome – or the plan was modified – so I could keep moving forward. Deviations from the plan were noted and accounted for. Research finished, knowledge assimilated, tweaks and redesigns slid into place. After interminable hours, weeks, years of constantly herding a million aspects of a plan into place – distractible cats that move at different speeds, or can only get started after other cats are done – the papers are signed, the hubbub is done, everyone leaves, and I want becomes I am.
It doesn’t last long. Sometimes it’s interrupted by glee: that an impossible plan actually worked. Sometimes it morphs into space for long-denied emotions, releasing pent-up tears or pain so that healing can start. Sometimes it becomes a re-ordering of reality, fitting the new piece into a foundation that will support larger plans, and the brain is off again, making lists of new research, assessments, and things to consider. But the memory of that moment, that beautiful, silent, balanced moment when struggle unfolds quietly into accomplishment, is worth everything that went into it.
