I gathered up nearly every single one of my Buddhist books and took them to the recycling center, where they will be available for distribution. Seeing them in the large bin brought up some sadness but also some relief. I was surprised by how calm how I felt.

It was throwing the pieces of my old bed frame onto a heap of trash destined for the landfill that finally got me. Seeing my old bed, something that has held me for the last eleven years, broken down into garbage was like a punch in the gut. I drove out of there as quickly as I could so the tough guys working the bulldozer wouldn’t see some weird lady crying in her car over trash.

It’s strange the way things shift. But then, isn’t this the most normal thing in the world? Things come together. Things fall apart. Over and over again. All the time. And still, we are caught by surprise. One day, we’re just looking for a new bed that won’t give us back pain and the next day we’re crying in our car, mourning the loss of our thirties and an entire spiritual community and belief system.

Okay, maybe that’s just me.

It’s such a strange thing, getting older. But, ah yes, the most normal thing in the world.

(What I’m listening to right now: Maggie Rogers: Alaska and Back In My Body)