Yesterday I said, "Bittersweet spring."
And that's fine. That's what I feel.
But let's not mistake what I feel for anything but that: what I feel.
I sometimes forget this--you too?--but what I feel changes. Yesterday I was lonely. Today I was pissy. (Or whatever.) Tomorrow will be something else.
I have feelings about spring's arrival here in the mountains? Okay. Fine.
But spring will come, as the Earth's axial tilt dictates it must.
I have been skiing poorly for the past several weeks. It's almost like my legs are super-fatigued from skiing hard for so much of the season. And I've been so angry with myself about it. Two days ago, I had to fight to keep from screaming out loud, “Why can't I stop SUCKING!?”
So: I feel what I feel about how I'm skiing.
But what if, in fact, my legs are super-fatigued from skiing so hard for so much of the season?
This morning I tried to write this piece. I struggled. I fought with the words for a while, trying to carve the piece from the idea. It didn't happen. I got pretty frustrated. Eventually, I went to do something else.
The words didn't fall into place. I felt frustrated.
But could it be that maybe those two facts aren't as connected as I have tended to want to believe?
The words didn't come. My legs are tired. Spring will come and the snow will melt.
I have feelings about all of these things.
In each case, I may not like what is. Right? I've expressed frustration, anger, ambivalence about the passage of time. All feelings that I'd rather be replaced by other, more welcome, feelings.
But the things themselves are what they are, irrespective of what I feel about them.
What is and what I feel about what is are two different, separate things.
If what is is what is, then do not fight with what is.