The rain is falling, as it has for the last few days, and I am staring out at the wet emerald green of ivy crawling around the yard. I am wishing that the wet leaves and rumbling traffic would give way to crisscrossing shadows from a stand of palm trees and the gentle reverberation of the sea tickling the sand.

I have such a powerful feeling to bail right now. Naming it with the keyboard makes my heart pound with anticipation. It’s all I can do to not just click over into an Expedia expedited reality and peek at what it would take to get me into that hammock. It would all be better then.

Exhale. The bathtub warm water with its salty healing and buoyant bounty of fresh fish, beckons me to make the tough choices. Should I sleep more or take a swim before I have another cocktail? Should I eat some fresh fruit or go for a walk down the beach?

Inhale. My chest tightens and my head gets heavy. The image of that seaside sanctuary is poured into a bottle and cast off into the “delusion bin”. A crack of criticism stings my cheek still warm from than moment in the sun.

Exhale. My shoulders drop and my eyes can lift and I can go back inside. But this time, I don’t need to conjure. I don’t need a fiction. I do, however, need some healing. It’s not about going anywhere right now. It’s about being with you all, right here.

Inhale. The hard head hardly capitulates but changes tack. Critique of my writing blends into anxiety about the current project I am producing out in the world, which makes it difficult to resolve either, which adds a layer of confusion and judgment, which builds into a micro whirlwind of urgency, which generates more speed, which starts to hurt, which starts to scare me, which makes me forget to use a period to end a damn sentence, which…

Exhale. I put my hand on my heart.

Inhale. Hand still to chest I can feel the rising of my breath, and I can feel the tightening in preparation for the next wave of pressure. But it doesn’t come. Hand to heart, I reconfigure the circuit. I interrupt the cycle of thought for just a moment.

Exhale. More begins to settle. My arms and legs soften, don’t loosen, and I sit deeper in my seat. Curiosity shows up, and the tiniest smile sneaks out from behind the beard.

Inhale. I look out the window. I track patterns of redwood bark hinting at the spiral nature of the majestic tree’s growth. I see that the ivy actually has at least five shades of green that reverberate between singularity and gradient tonality.

Exhale. It’s beautiful outside today. I get to live here right now, and I have time to take a moment with you and share what it feels like to take a few breaths.