I’ve been going to church the past two weeks. It’s been 20 years since I’ve gone to a church of my own accord. I’ve thought about doing it many times, but never actually dragged myself out of the house on a Sunday. The church is within walking distance of my house (even on frigid slick mornings). The church itself is a beautiful sweeping Luthern church. Austere by Catholic standards, but still ornate compared to the Lutheran churches in Northern Minnesota, which were all heavy wood and sharp angles, and intimidating like the mountains. The sermons were about compassion and self-love, respectively. They both touched on the inherent trait of doubt …

If there’s one drum that my therapist beats over and over, it’s the dialectical. And I find it as grating, as I do, true. Given that much of my innate nature tends towards the extremes. Take even something like judgement. ‘I shouldn’t judge’, (a statement with it’s own self-contained judgement). I often find myself believing this statement. And yet, there are times when I do need to judge. I need to judge to determine if I’m safe or if I should move forward with a business transaction. But it can also be blindness. You start to see things not as they are, but through the lens of your dream. And …

The dog days of summer. The leaves are finally beginning to turn. And only now at the furthest places from the ground. It reminds me of the gray hairs I find around my temples. As cliché as it is, I can’t help but see my own fate in the changing leaves. Optimism and energy in the spring, contemplation and curiosity in the autumn. I feel on the cusp of something. But what, I have no idea. Maybe that’s why it’s so much easier to pretend that nothing changes when you’re in a warm season-less place. Not matter the age, we’re young, shallow, and joyful. That’s probably envy I feel. Maybe …