Nights like these

Nights like these I always say I’ll write about, but I never do it right then and there—and so I never do it. And then I regret not doing it and beat myself up and then I’m even less motivated to do it.

Solution. Just do it. The dishes and to-do list and cat food and such can wait. Life should be documented now.

When you remember that, yes, life is the in between moments–but it’s also in moments like these, when you’re sitting among friends and realizing you’re exposed but safe, insane and not sorry, accepted, loved. When you can feel safe to say you think coffee dates are awkward and you just want to be more intentional but the intentional part never comes or kicks in. Then most everyone feels the same so you decide to finally be accountable and it’s uncomfortable but a relief.

It’s not the nights alone resting or reading that fuel me most, though those are still needed. It’s the nights I’m tempted to skip that I need, the nights when staying at home by myself sounds so much better. It’s nights that drag me out that drag the best and worst from me, when I go and am uncomfortable in my shirt and my socks have holes and my hair isn’t just right. These are the nights that change me. These are the nights we are real with each other and temporarily forget what makes us different and the chasms we create when we’re alone. Because we’re not. We just need to go. Go out when it’s cold and uncomfortable. Try it on for size.