It takes a little tug, a soft jolt, a small bump.
That’s all it takes to get me moving, get me thinking, feeling, remembering. I just need a little tug to pull me out of this rut, a soft jolt to wake me from my daze, and a small bump to knock things back into focus.
I won’t lie and say that I haven’t been out of touch lately, or out of it in general. I won’t say I haven’t felt different, or hollowed. I know that I am brave enough to acknowledge that something is off, that I’ve failed to put my heart into the things around me. I will openly acknowledge that my jump, my wild starting-run jump off the edge has landed me in a downward spiral and set me into a rapid free fall. That my jump into the ocean led me to sink like iron and left me resting on the bottom wondering why I ever jumped ship. I jumped thinking I could fly, denouncing the off chance that I could fall and failing to realize that I don’t have wings, don’t own any, can’t afford them, and definitely do NOT have the opportunity to obtain any soon.
And so I am left here in my limbo, desperate for a little tug, a soft jolt, a small bump to force me out of my funk and back into the life of things. I cannot deny that I asked for this. I asked to be lost without realizing that not every moment of the trek home will be glorious. I never wanted it easy but I forgot that it could be hard.
But maybe with patience will come a small bump, a soft jolt, and a little tug that might be able to stir me awake long enough to realize that hardships are worthy of being relished and smiles can ease a lost heart.