In the first sips of coffee
Until she walked out the door, the day had barely started — it was on pause in the darkness of her apartment; coffee mug left beside a screen of other people’s lives. In this cave-like space, the world remains at bay, email unchecked, lights low — eggs remembered via the light above.
She sits somewhere between worry and doing — alarm reminding her to “take her damn meds” rings loudly. Dose charted, day continues. Behind a screen of retweets and favorites, a series of hashtags, is a collection of stories; what #TraumaMeans, #OverloadMeans. Stories of not-entirely-strangers who know more about their lives than their neighbors do.
Until she walked out the door, into them sunlight, only now remains. Though future and past attempt to creep in — fears of support networks fading, the uncompleted deadlines, and the uncontrollable in-between. But this was now — in the first sips of coffee, in the barely awake, trying not to plan the day away.
She sits with the lives of people she’s never met — in sentence-long summaries revealing more than an hour of conversation. What would it be like to not talk around, to state directly? To live with, to exist beside this lingering fear of what might be? What might be is too close and too far away. She is here in-between.
Before she steps through the morning, she is here — bite to fork, fork to mouth. Rising for more coffee, to return to a seated position — wishing she could stay here; waiting for the day to begin.
Before anything happens, there is worry. As if it appeared rather than was self-created. She is worry. In the waiting for what might be, in the hope of continuing to try, imagining a what could be, will be, in the terrifying not yet. The being with these fears of leaving and being left. Of wondering what then and finding herself here in the wondering.
In the conversations with herself of “Is this supposed to be what I’m doing.” Yet I am here now. Not entirely sure where I’m going, but stepping forward, only to look back. You are here — like those signs in the mall orienting you to a dizzying space. In preparation for what’s to come, I want to experience now — to anticipate a will be for women like me and then create it.
This living in-between is the hardest space. The fear of not enough until it is tolerable. To be in this space of not knowing and fearing is exhausting. To talk through worry loops and the few knowns.
You are here. Waiting for a later being slowly created for women like you, for you, by you, and this work is disorienting. Not knowing how you fit, into a space of learned recognition. This is now. In cups of coffee and brief encouragements between the blank spaces. This is hope living between the known and will be.
This is enough — to sit with these lingering fears and coming acceptance. Knowing feels impossible, as I anticipate a murky hope.