MA brought me sunflowers as a thank you for dog-sitting Luna. Real sunflowers, half my height with thick tree-like stems and meaty leaves. They smell wonderfully un-flower-like, like food and comfort. I wonder if those sunflowers are an accidental gesture or if she knew. Sunflowers are the symbol of my home, of my identity. My mum says her folk planted sunflowers and corn along the fence, so that no space gets wasted.

We had another rainstorm today. After the rain, the forest was dripping with fresh water, the clouds were golden, the air tangy and pure.

An 18 year old budding illustrator was killed today in Kharkiv by russian shelling. No matter how much you let yourself feel the pain, it’s not enough.

First day of school always fills me with giddy energy. I always loved school, loved university, loved learning and I am grateful to relieve the excitement of going back to school through my kids. I wonder why I never ever considered to become a teacher. Maybe because I grew up in Ukraine in the 1990s, during the times when we were freezing in school in winter and our teachers were either starving or hustling to survive (mine were mostly hustling).

During my walk tonight, I saw a spider weaving her web. I could have looked at her forever, how delicately she was pulling her barely visible thread, how even she made every section, how she alternated her long legs. It was magic. I looked at the surface of the lake, where from time to time the had or the back of some fish broke the surface and made circles run through the water.

I continue listening to Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower – it is beautiful, but I wasn’t prepared to the amount of violence and gore and try hard not to let it get to me. I keep listening, hoping that at some point there will be some ethereal wisdom that will make it all worth it.

What a day.

My first thought upon waking up was gratitude. I thought about gratitude during a frisky morning walk, trying to repeat in my head all the parts of the Haudenosaunnee Thanksgiving address. I thought about it throughout the day. How grateful I am to be home, for the last day of summer holidays, for yesterday’s storm and the cool weather it brought, for my kids, for being healthy (I still shudder remembering how sick we were at this time last year), for good books, for good energy, for neighbours I meet as they walk their dogs and I walk myself.

It was a very very productive day. I don’t remember ever feeling so calm and in control at work. It felt good. It felt powerful, the good kind of power, the one you don’t have to fight for.

The evening run felt very good too (except an unexpected knee pain and lightheadedness after K4). At some point during the run I thought about water, about being like water. If I become water, if I find my flow to carry me through this autumn, where will I end up?

I am trying to compassionately inquire why I feel so bad on the office days. Although I have to admit, it’s getting better, I am now able to go through a day in the office without too much damage to myself or others. Strangely, the only thing I like about my office days is the first part of my morning commute. It is such a versatile time: I mostly read, sometimes write, sometimes think or just stare out of bus window. I also like the last part of the day, the coming home to familiar trees, dogs and faces. I dislike the city, I dislike the stress and urgency of being on a schedule and above all I dislike myself the way I am or try to be in the office. I dislike the insincerity, the insecurity, the constant feeling that I am too much or not enough, that I do not belong. This never goes away. The only time I feel well in the office is the times when I moderate conversations and hold space. Then I can relax, because I know that in trying to hold a safe space for others I myself am safe.

I was feeling unwell today, struggling with fatigue, bouts of indigestion, muscular pains and lightheadedness. The tops of my thighs hurt as is from strenuous muscle training and my calves feel tight and heavy. I forgot and confused simple things, made silly mistakes. It would have been easy to say I don’t feel like myself today, but the truth is, I do feel like myself, a version of myself, at least. I feel like I am no longer willing to deny or push away the weaker, more fraught sides of me. I feel stronger because I am ready to accept myself more fully.

In the meanwhile, my friends have spent the day hiding from the air raids and this is a particular kind of heartbreak.

Sometimes I am afraid that I will get used to it all and life will become ordinary, my skin will become thicker and gaze unfocused. But so far, it doesn’t. Every time I step into the forest, even if it’s multiple times a week, a day, I expect a miracle. Every time I step outside, especially on a summer night, something happens. Pink clouds, rainbows, the smell of red apples, rotting in the high grass, the abundance of goldenrods and some other flowers people call weed, small and big animals. Nothing happened today, nothing of significance, I feel as happy and alive as ever.

Misty sunrise this morning.

I went to bed around ten yesterday, so I wake up rested and do some very slow restorative yoga. But the rest of the day is filled with snappy, restless energy. I say wrong things, I speak too much, buy too much, I worry about money and about life in general, I feel out of place. In the evening, I take a walk, trying to bring myself back to my essence. I am not particularly successful. But I keep reminding myself that that’s alright, there is always a way back. This shall pass.

The photo is actually from yesterday. I felt so tired today, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I think I’ve accepted that these days are inevitable, that my battery is bound to run low at some point, especially if I don’t recharge by being outside or physical activity. And even if I do. I think I found a better way of making through these days by being very gentle with myself, breathing, making every effort slow and deliberate.

I also noticed that when I’m tired, I fall back onto my old automatic reactions. I whine, blame, snap and forget little gestures of self-care. I scroll, mindlessly, repeatedly and unnecessarily. It is as if I was disconnecting from myself. Maya would say: when you notice that you do this, call yourself back home. Breathe, stretch, walk, stop, run. Running helped tonight. The pure heady joy of moving through darkening evening, of hitting the ground, of feeling my limbs, light and strong, of feeling my arms, propelling my body forward, my back – leaning forward than leaning back, making space, my lips stretching in a grin, head jerking when a good song comes up on the playlist. I am back home, baby, I feel lighter. I can’t believe the streetlights are already on at eight o’clock. We are dressing into darkness, baby, into long twilights and early bedtimes, into another winter of waiting for another spring. I felt it tonight and I accepted it.

The phrase that keeps circling in my mind this morning: soft around the edges, breathing into it.

It is raining. Almost raining. Barely raining. Just about to rain. Raining again. Again. And again. I am waking up at the first faint trill of my alarm, sometimes seconds before it. I open my eyes to the nuances of grey. I step into the world without hard angles and edges, all soft and soggy. I am stepping into it full of kindness. I feel attentive these days, full of intention and through this intention I feel alive and more powerful than I’ve felt for a long time. The days are busy, but don’t feel rushed, every moment feels full and meaningful. Just the physical sensation of living every moment: the surreal homey feeling of sitting in the kitchen with Marta and Anthony. The acceptance of every moment whatever that moment is feels like a warm drink in my belly. Surely, this is for real? The good times may be passing, but the acceptance is mine. Maybe, this is what courage is: facing every day with kindness.