Month before my birth month. Month of Oregon’s early summer.
Month of deep green, of hectic fuschia roses up and down my block, of water fountains in the parks, of pollen in the air.
Month of late, blooming, endless twilights.
July, I wasn’t sure I was ready to say hello to you, but I am now. July, you are very special to me.
One year ago this month I wrote about the hardest thing, and about knowing the next steps. May-and-June last year were about secret-keeping; only in July of last year did I become capable of telling the secret I held tight in my heart.
Only in July of this year (last Saturday, in fact) was I able to say the other secret I held tight in my heart.
Only in July of this year was I able to take off the numb armor that carried me through the silent, fearful months.
July is secret-telling. July is map-finding.
July is untying all the knots.
Everything is the same. Everything is different.
I am back in July. Except where last July I was inside the labyrinth, this July it feels like I have stepped out of it. Finally. Has it ever happened this way for you? It’s as if I never appreciated the clarity of the air, the sheer beauty of the world and the wonder of my own body, until now.
Life isn’t perfect, but it’s pretty damn cool. I feel good. I have love. I have my family. I have freedom.
This July is deep knowing.
Deep heat. (And still deep chills, because this is Portland.)
Deep in my bones, knowing what I want. Deep in my bones, trusting that I will get it.
Deep, delicious anticipation for the thrills of myself and the thrills of summer. The bottomless picnic basket! Gliding down the hill on my bike! Deep delving into the cool of the library stacks.
(Deep coughing too, let’s not forget the tonsillitis — it’s not all perfect.)
July has been a deep undoing of a tension inside my belly that I didn’t even know was there.
And deep not because it’s all super egotistically important (though yes, that too), but because it is deeply felt. Even the most shallow thing resonates hugely. My life is big and that feels amazing after the tightness and fear.
July, I never would have predicted you. I wouldn’t have known to ask for a July this amazing — I wasn’t quite sure I deserved it. July has expanded my sense of what’s possible.
What else could I want?
I’m still practicing making these desires bigger — I’m incredulous that at some point my anticipation for some cool new thing (the concert in the park, the week at the beach, the longest bike ride) will be overtaken by the awesomeness that is actually doing that cool new thing.
July, can you please be the seed I plant to remind me when I want to get back to this feeling of possibility and anticipation and deep glee? You’re like the culmination of all the good things.
July, you can be the best example ever that Future Me really has figured a few things out, even when I’m stuck in the mud and convinced she’s floating off in fairy land.
July, you can be my buddy. Thanks for being so damn awesome.
Hi, Seedhouse readers, I’ve missed you! I’ve been processing up a veritable storm over on the Floating Playground lately, maybe I’ll come back soon and tell you about it. It’s pulled my attention inward in very, very good ways. It’s been epic. Just like this year. Just like July. Come say hi, if you’re still reading, and tell me about your July? I’ve missed this space. xo