What I Want to Talk About

I don’t want to talk about my job, or lack thereof. I don’t want to think about my mental health. I don’t want to read another text message. I don’t want anyone to ask me any questions.

What I want is to tell you about the afternoon sun that peeked through the clouds the other day. How the baristas at the café next door make the best oat latte, with latte art so pretty it makes you want to learn how to make latte art. The way my body gets sore and glistening and warm when I finish a good run, how my ribs expand, so grateful I can breathe this deep. The way my heart fills up when I hold her in my arms. Walking slowly, even though I swore I’d never be that person. Finishing a book. Soft skin on cool sheets after waking up with no alarm clock. Slicing a perfectly ripe mango and eating the whole thing while standing over the sink.

When I was a kid, my grandpa helped install sprinklers in our front yard. Every time he came over, he would turn the switch on to start them when I wasn’t looking, and tall arcs of water would fan out over the grass. Pop Pop’s magic sprinklers only turned on when he came over. If I knew he was on his way, I’d put on my bathing suit before I even heard his truck in the driveway. On hot summer days, I’d feel a rush running full speed into cold water, screaming with joy. When the sunlight hit the droplets in just the right way, you could see rainbows.

There’s this photo of me on a day Pop Pop came over. I’m wearing a hot pink bathing suit, speeding across my front lawn so fast that my tiny fists are nothing but a blur. I’m laughing, yelling, radiating. I remember what it feels like to be in awe of water. I remember what it feels like to not resist my joy – to just let it pour out of me, to move alongside it.

The other day I felt hopeless, but today I don’t. A few years ago, I was afraid to leave, but I’m writing this from a different place. This morning, I was unsure what would come of the day, and I’m still not sure, but that’s alright. Maybe I’ll find some sprinklers.