Recycled Recipes: Summer Leather and Broccoli Mac and Cheese
And The Narratives That Hold Us Hostage
I have been listening to sad songs all week. The kind that make you feel something while bringing you somewhere else. Anywhere. When I’ve listened, my tears don’t arrive and I only produce a sort of dry-heave in my chest, that funnels out through my mouth.
I am not particularly sad. In truth, I just got back from a solo trip in which I heard the sound of my voice and journaled my thoughts. The winter was long and I suppose, what I am knocking at is the narratives we tell ourselves that prevent us from acknowledging things like dry-heave-tears, solo trips, and the purity in finally hearing one’s own voice.
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