I’m so type A it’s intoxicating. Is it because I spent a whole week with the identical DNA replica of myself or is it because of the bullies who made fun of me growing up? Wait. It shouldn’t be intoxicating. It’s not possible to be intoxicated by yourself, is it? We live in a free world and in this free world, everything is acceptable. No, I think it’s the new weights of the values I put first in life. That’s gotta be it. For the times they are a changin’.
Being type A is exhausting. It’s probably because I’m getting older. It’s gotta feel good to be able to leave the house messy when I leave for work, or to not plan vacation down to the half hour, or to cross off nothing from my to-do list today because I played three hours of tennis and spent three hours at the coffee shop, or to sit in traffic while jamming to Beyonce, or to be asked why I’m just standing there because the view in front of me took my breath away. It’s liberating. I feel like I have less of a death grip on life, and my hands don’t hurt as much. In fact, the feeling is starting to come back. I can feel it in my toes. This is real life.
As I wiggle my toes, I feel what it means to be alive – to feel the air move with a sense of purpose. There is a sort of calmness, like when you’re in the eye of the storm, only there is no storm anymore. This storm had multiple eyes, but even those have all passed. The storm was the torment of bad dreams, real dreams, aches and pains that only the heart could feel, blurred lines. I am not of this world, but this is my world to live in. I’m gonna stay alive and wiggle my toes.