It often feels like I am standing on unstable ground while others are mostly on stable ground.

Physically too! I live in an century-old home that slopes a bit to one side. I love it for its quirks, nooks and textures. I love it for the contributions of many people that have lived here before me, it gives me a sense of community and connectedness. I didn’t want to live in a cookie cutter home. But every time it creaks, I worry. I hear creaks when I’m working, walking and especially exercising. I worry that I might damage it. I then look at the modern structures around me and think, perhaps the people that live there feel more grounded and stable in their unsloped, non-sliding home. Thankfully, my husband is more adept at construction related ideas and helpfully points out that the wood we stand on is old and solid; likely stronger than the new stuff. This gives me a sense of comfort, until the next creak, leak or mouse attack in the attic. “Too many points of vulnerability” I think.

Isn’t this applicable to our emotional world as well? In worrisome moments we think we are injured and need repairing while other times—when the light and love from other humans hits just right—we love ourselves for our quirks, textures, and resilience. I never aspired to a cookie cutter life. Internal creaks and slopes be damned.

“All varied colors of the light
Within its beauteous arch unite”
— Effie Waller Smith