Sometimes I’m walking down the hallway to find a student, and I just remember, “I’m fine.” Because I am. At that moment I’m awake, I’m walking, I’ve got a job, and my family is alive. I’m fine.
It started when I used to feel quite anxious for the greater portion of each day. I used it as a mantra to convince myself that I was fine. Things didn’t feel fine, but it was only the worry talking.
This evening I started thinking my way into a rut, but I have to remind myself of the small truth. The truth that I’m fine. I’ve got my sweet dachshunds and plenty to eat. I have nothing to fret over, not really.
Not even when sticky, foggy, heavy memories begin to leak from their jars.
I’m quite fine.