Evening. I have just finished the last coaching sessions for the day and I feel complete, useful and deeply fulfilled. I’m in my new home in D.C. I do not have internet yet. And this means that the usual things I do to unwind in some evenings, after finishing work, are not available to me.
Watching a movie. Catching up on Facebook. Reading an interesting article online. Or fussing with my website and creating the newest program for my clients.
No internet. I feel a gap. An interruption of my habits. A hole in the comforts I reach out to, in order to relax.
No internet. Instead, I feel. I feel the feelings that are here.
I feel the absence of my lover. I feel my longing to be with him, to hear him talk to me, or make me laugh. I feel the newness of my surroundings and the new pace of my life. I feel the fears in my heart. I feel the sadness of the loss and the anxiety caused by not knowing what’s next.
I feel. Deeply. And I cry. I cry for what’s no longer here. I cry for what is now in the past. I cry, and I feel the relief that comes with the tears.
With no internet to mask the sadness or conceal the feeling of being alone, I am forced to feel the birth of the new beginning.