Brooklyn No. 1

  There is a moment of serendipity that is earned after a hundred steps forward are taken despite one's greatest trepidations. 

You don't know this serendipitous moment is coming. You don't realize what it is until it's upon you. 

It is the briefest of reprieves from the doubts that nag your mind, and the fears that come to call as soon as you're tucked in for bed. 

It's a singular moment of peace where you are assured that, yes-- you were right to work for this life you're living. Yes--you made a good choice. 

I felt this earlier in the week as I stepped out of the Fulton Street subway station to a gentle summer rain.

Passer-bys lifted newspapers and bags over their heads, colorful umbrellas--green, blue, and purple polka dots--sprouted up along the street. They hurried into shops out of the rain.

 I slowed my steps. 

 I couldn't hold back my smile. A warmth spread through my chest as the rain kindly dappled my face and arms. The harmonies of "O Mio Babbino Caro" swelled in my headphones as the rain fell harder. 

But overhead, the sky was blue and bright. Sunlight mingled and danced with the raindrops as both fell to earth. I continued on my way, soaking in the rain and sun as they fell across my skin. Soaking in this moment of peace and assurance that I needed so badly after the drought of the last few months. 

For the first time in a long time, I could feel my cup being filled, the hope spilling over, the joy rising in my heart. 

A hunched old woman with tanned skin and a striped sweater leaned against a wall, watching as I passed. There was a knowing look in her eyes like she knew where I had come from, like she could tell where I was going. And for the first time in a while,  I felt like maybe I did too. 

This season feels like a re-introduction to myself.

 In the absence of school and work, I am slowly reawakening the other parts of me, the parts of my heart and soul that have lain dormant for a long time. I have to gently remind myself that I love reading, that painting is important to me, that I can make time to work out, and I don't have to feel guilty about sleeping in. 

After four years of non-stop college classes, I am forced to remember that rest is okay! That learning for the sake of learning is something I love, and I can find value in my time and efforts even, and especially, if it won't earn me a grade. Sadly, it's hard to acclimate to a life where the product of my time won't be affirmed by a professor's notes in the margins. It grieves me to find myself yearning for scheduled assignments and tedious writing exercises. 

I am re-learning who I am on my own.

 I am investing in those around me. I'm setting aside time for daily devotions, and taking a deep dive into the parts of my heart and life that had been cast aside in the name of earning my degree. 

I have never been twenty-two and graduated, and I'm trying to give myself the grace to figure out whatever that looks like now. There is grace in this time, there is so much to be learned and gained. And sometimes there are also magic moments of peace where I am reminded that my hard work will pay off a little at a time.