confessions after meatballs

confession: giant drooping purple tulips on my counter distract me. i lose time staring at them. the lost time isn’t wasted but disappears in mysterious reticulated purple tulip land. i like disappearing for lost stretches of time.

confession: other than losing time inside tulip land, i don’t know where the week has gone. i’ve cooked. i’m healing. time rushes by.

confession: last weekend i saw a friend i haven’t seen in several months. i didn’t know she was pregnant. as of saturday night, pregnant women prompt a new feeling inside me. pregnant women used to remind me of a thousand images of my ex-wife while she was carrying our sons. now pregnant women offer the hopeful promise that maybe, just maybe some unexpected miracles signal me.

confession: in less than 24 hours i’m flying to minnesota to spend a few days loving on my favorite cousins and my favorite god-children. (yes, i admit that i have favorites. many many favorites. enough favorites that my gargantuan favoring heart can love each one as my favorite.)

confession: i’ve had a stomach ache for a couple days. my anxiety about not-knowing what to do has settled uneasily in my guts. gripping pain stops me. i breathe.

confession: i want more love. i want less stuff. this is always the case. each week i get rid of more stuff. each week i invite more love to move through me.

confession: minutes ago i finished the meatballs i made on tuesday. i want more meatballs. i want to make sweet potato pie. i want to find two dozen recipes that i can’t wait to try. i want to find them myself. i don’t want input. this cooking adventure is a solo pilgrimage around, past, and through some old fears that arise and abate as i chop, simmer, and bake.

confession: the questions i’m currently investigating in my life are “where can i be more vulnerable? where, what, when, and with whom can i stop pretending, avoiding, and resisting? what can i release? who can i ask for help?” these questions have long, loud, short, and silent answers. what happens when you ask these questions of yourself?


About angel joy

love is an action verb. i live love in action.
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