becoming a coastline

notes on how to welcome whatever happens next

sweet friend of mine,

hello :) are you still curled up in bed this morning? or have you had a whole day and are checking in before you turn out the lights? are you considering what to eat for lunch? save me a seat next to you.

I’ve felt an uptick in my indecision — so aligned with the last false thaw of winter/hesitant submission into spring. I spend a lot of time journaling, and lately, I’ve watched all the certainty of a decision, idea, or plan I’ve settled on in the morning wilt with the heat of a new feeling by the afternoon. there’s a weighted sense in this shift forward; a new season and the thicker sense of hope warm weather brings, that unshakeable feeling of being suspended above ground (or in the larger sense for us all, watching from inside the house) while time continues to move forward, and for me, a move. 

in my last love letter, a while back now, I reminded you to experience the feeling first before assigning it a name or color-coding it good or bad. (I wouldn’t have told you it if I wasn’t working on it myself, promise.) and while it’s a difficult practice, visualizations seem to give me a better understanding. if every feeling comes like a wave, I try to decide what kind of coastline I’ll become. who will I be in my receiving? am I crowded and colorful, with pop-up umbrellas and lit-up boardwalks like the Atlantic? am I quiet and green like Maine? do I stretch out for all of the sun to catch me like the Gulf of California? if I close my eyes, I can feel the crash; my beach of sea glass instead of sand. 

I don’t try to write about change in every poem, but another day comes, I turn the idea over in my hands and find something I didn’t notice last time. I go for a walk and come home dripping in it. the more I explore it, the less I see its grip as anything to be feared. the more it becomes a decision and less like a window I’ve fallen into. I will control the things I can control, and walk gracefully through whatever else. how do I hold my arms out wide enough to welcome whatever is meant for me next? eyes closed, wingspan outstretched, I feel myself lengthen. 

hold this embrace with the open air, like awaiting a friend finally arriving after a long trip out to meet you. you, extending past your fingertips; this body becoming riverbank. feel the waves lap. notice the movement rolling past. this give and take. a song, if we want it to be. one wave isn’t changing your shape. you are steady enough. 

with love,

schuyler (sky-ler)
venmo: schuylerpeck