I glance in the mirror and see the words stamped on my necklace: celebrate today.
I don’t feel like celebrating today. Today doesn’t feel celebratory.
That’s why I’m wearing the necklace. I chose it for its imperative. I needed the reminder—the command—to celebrate despite the feelings, not because of them.
For days tears have welled up for unknown reasons. My throat has ached from the perpetual lump. I don’t understand why, but I do understand it matters. I understand I am viewing life through dark and broken lenses. I understand my heart has staged a coup and unseated my head.
And that’s okay.
I can be sad. I can crave sleep and fail to find it. I can struggle to articulate what I’m feeling and why. I can.
The emotions are indicators. They are important, but they are incomplete. They tell their portion of the story loudly and dramatically, yet from the shadows I hear quieter voices of truth reciting their lines.
Today is good. Today is beautiful. Today is worthy of celebration . . . because it is today.
I look up from the necklace and meet my eyes in the mirror. I see the fatigue. I blink away the burgeoning sheen of inexplicable tears.
I close my eyes. I rub the small silver tab of my necklace between my thumb and fingers. I feel the indentations of the words. I inhale. I pause. I exhale.
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