Catharsis and weather talk
On dementia, small talk, and trusting the perfection of all things
In this moment, I am feeling full. Full in my heart, that is. The first two weeks of August came with friendship and fun and big feelings and heart-opening celebrations & reflections that I’ve been slowly digesting.
In the digesting, I find myself doing nothing. That is to say, I am back to my slow pace, easeful routine, simplicity. Wake up, morning walk, stretch, maybe yoga, lemon water, work. Each day there is some kind of variation, some kind of adventure, but the simple routine stays true.
In this nothingness, I find myself thinking about my mom. Nowadays, most of my friends are developing new relationships with their parents. A coming-of-age, becoming-more-like-friends, evolving-into-an-adult-relationship kind of expansion.
When I was in elementary school, I used to imagine this phase as being exciting, with the energy of an early 2000s movie. And when I was in my early twenties, I thought I would never have this phase (or even want it, for that matter).
I have a lot to say about dementia, about Alzheimer’s, about fear, about acceptance. I’m sure I will write about those things at some point, but now is not the time. Instead, I want to talk about small talk.