These Are The Days

by Dian Reid-Jancic· Follow Dian on

This poem, the one I wrote this morning and am about to share with you, came to me as though a wave of love and forgiveness had warmly crashed over me as I wrote. It speaks to me of how we all get caught up in yesteryear sometimes, and days passed become our focus of regret, of wonder, of longing. And just maybe, lead to moving forward.

These Are The Days

The days go by and they go by slowly.
Wishful thinking that they’d go by any slower, any quicker.
They are what they are, these days.
The days we’ll think are the good ol’ days some day.
The days we’ll think are lost one day.
The days that seem unbearable now.

We sit in these days,
we stand in these days,
we work these days,
we play (less) these days.

We win these days, we lose these days.
We cry these days, we laugh these days.
We love these days, we cringe these days,
we wish something, anything would change these days.

These days are what we make them, and what we allow them to be.
These days make us and break us.
These days live on, just as we won’t when our days are done.
These days are filled with sunshine and rain, with joy and pain.
With brilliance and shame.
With heartache and blame.

These days are beautiful and sunny.
These days are cold and rainy.
These days are windy and snowy.
These days, the air is just … There.

These are the days we walk our dogs;
these are the days we feed our cats.
These are the days will build our lives.
These are the days we tear it all down and start over again.
These are the days we fix the cracks in the foundation.

These are the days we insulate our hearts.
These are the days we set our loved ones free.
These are the days we hope every butterfly will return safely,
willingly, back to our open hands.

These are the days we scream in agony, burn in defeat,
live in harmony, believe in peace.
These are the days the wall came down;
these are the days the wall went up.
These are the days the barriers were broken;
these are the days the bubble was burst.

These are the days we wish for more;
these are the days we make dreams come true.
These are the days we hide from the world under the covers,
wishing never to be seen again.

These are the days we put the razor down,
we step down from that ledge,
we put the bottle down.
These are the days we turn left instead of the same old right
down the alleyway that’s been trying to kill us for years.

These are the days we are growing.
These are the days we are dying.
These are the days we are living.
These are the days we are forgiving.

These are the days we let it all go,
the days we couldn’t hold on any longer,
the days we slipped from the reach of those
who were holding on too tight to begin with.

These are the days we choke,
the days we spit it all out,
the days we refuse to take another bite.

These are the days we give it our best,
we do what we can,
we go all in.

These are the days in our lives that matter,
the days like no other because they are no other.

These are the days we understand,
the days we get ourselves,
the days we get each other.

These are the days that will never be again,
the days we’re happy to leave behind,
the days that got us where we are today.

These are our days, and we will not give them up.
Not for nothing, not for anything,
not for no one, not for anyone.
Not for you, not for me, not for all of you.

These are the days we will survive,
we will strive,
we will thrive.

These are the days we got our socks knocked off,
the days we put them back on,
the days we dusted ourselves off,
the days we picked ourselves up,
the days we started all over again.

These are the days we wish we were kids again;
these are the days when adulthood was overrated.
These are the days we can’t get back, and won’t move forward.

These are the days that are just like heaven, just like hell,
just like they said it would be, just like we pictured it,
just like nothing else we’ve ever seen before.

These are the days we are.
These are the days we see.
These are the days we’re free.

These are the days we will leave behind
so we can move forward
and get on with our lives
that we no longer refer to as the good ol’ days,
the days that were, and are no more.

These are the days that are mine.

~ Dian Reid

Pressure of Empty

As I finished up writing I felt empty. But this empty feeling, it’s nothing to be upset about, nothing to feel sad over. It’s the feeling of a blank canvas. A freshly rinsed palate. A clean slate. [Insert metaphor that works for you.]

We all have choices of what to do with our proverbial clean slates. We can enjoy the fresh, clean feeling for a moment, and then what? We stare at the emptiness and feel pressure to fill it all up with brilliance and perfection. This pressure comes from our Ego, from society, from our mothers-in-law … from wherever we allow that pressure to push on us. Pressure is a sign of resistance. Stand firm and resist, or get out of the way and move on.

Removing Resistance

A client of mine teaches self defense to women. She teaches that sometimes the best way to avoid impact is to just get out of the way. If a person is running at you to attack, you simply step out of the way. They rush right past you, and you’ve avoided harm and can make your next move. Simple. Not always so, with the mind.

We feel the pressure from our surroundings, from our selves, and we can’t get away, we can’t just move out of the way. Or can we?

White space. Breathe. Calm the mind. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Dig into the white space, that rinsed palate, that blank canvas, that clean slate. See what wants to be created, what’s been calling to be created, who’s been dying to come out. Start with a dot on your canvas, a little chalk mark on your slate. Try something different than creating the painting you just left behind. See what happens.

What do “these days” hold for you?

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