outside, my heart
My heart beats outside my chest, every day. I only have to look at Remy for proof.
Today he started third grade. Third. Grade. I don't know why this seems like such a leap, and maybe every year is such a leap, but third grade seems like a big one. We have a new entrance to elementary school and everything (lining up with fourth and fifth grade).
He amazes me so. Just yesterday, he overcame a big, long-standing phobia and watched a (short) 4D movie with me at Legoland. I explained it would be good practice for Star Tours (the Disneyland ride that has been a major topic of excitement at our house since I told him we could go, in November) and he didn't need any other explanation or enticement. He amazes me.
And I'm still filled with anxiety, on this first day of school, hoping that this will be a good year. That his best friend not being there will be ok. That he'll be friended by other kids. That he'll have a kind, empathetic (yet disciplined and rightly-demanding) teacher. He has so much to learn, and so much to teach, if he's just in the right place with the right people.
And despite the anxiety of what feels like my heart walking around outside my chest, waiting to tell me (or not, depending on his mood and overwhelmedness) how his day goes I'm still filled with relief to have time to myself again. I need it. I need to remind myself my heart is here, in my chest, actual.
Grounded in the realness of me. Yes.
My heart is here. My heart is also there, with him. And with you. With the world. With the universe.
My heart is everything and nothing, all at once. Stardust vacuuming stardust.
Which reminds me I would really like a new vacuum cleaner.
Life: poetry and prose. Ebb and flow. Stardust and vacuum cleaners.