Out of my head, that is.
I have a long-entrenched tendency when things get difficult of retreating deep into the recesses of the thinky place. It’s a comfortable place for me where I can maintain the illusion of being able to out-deliberate any problem and I can pretend that I am in control.
It’s comfortable.
And it’s a lie.
It’s the security blanket that keeps me from getting all panicky and catastrophic. The analysis keeps me at a safe distance, as though I’m giving advice rather than being the one who needs to accept it.
It’s the remnants of the, “If I try hard enough, nobody will leave me again,” as I exert mental effort through my actions in a twisted game of barter.
It’s the voice that tells me that I can always do more. Be more. And has trouble receiving the moment.
It’s the tightened grip on the handlebars…
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My New Life 
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