At Peace At Home

I sit in my home and look around with pride 
and a little confusion.

How did I get here? 
When did it happen?

I remember being excited and disappointed 
and feeling like I was stuck, 
standing still,
while life collapsed 
and regrew 
and sped past me.

I ran, trying to keep up.

I remember often feeling like 
I wasn't measuring up to someone's expectations
(maybe they were my own)

and there was a clock,
this impatient metronome, 
that kept reminding me
I was off-rhythm and out of tune.

I remember trying to do everything right,
trying so hard, changing so much 
that I abandoned myself 
for what I perceived to be needed. 

I remember pain
and I remember love.

I remember dreaming and I remember realizing
the dream wasn't going to come true. 

I remember when I stopped 
being able to see a future.
Days of hoping I would die. 

I remember remembering things I liked,
like they were strangers 
- it still kind of feels like that sometimes.

I remember admitting defeat 
and how the hardest thing to say
was the thing that made the future 
blossom back into sight.

I remember longing 
and wondering if I would ever be loved.

I remember finding and feeling love;
then, fearing and losing love.

Today I do not long for what has been, 
for what I've had,
for what I've lost, 
for what I want.

I do not hear the metronome. 
I do not fear the dreams that may or may not come. 
I am here and here is safe.
Here is quiet. 

Here is the culmination of all the days I've lived.

I'm grateful for the questions yet unanswered,
for the things I do not have - 
it means there is somewhere to go.

I am grateful for where and who I've been
and how I've tried and what I've learned.
I am at peace at home.
I am full alone.