Steel

The rain came down hard on the skylights at about half-past five this morning, and even in my delirious state I cursed mother nature for delivering such poorly disguised irony. The weather always has a direct affect on my mood, a way of predetermining the way my day will pan out, the way I can or sometimes cannot face the world head-on and strong. Once I woke up and walked my dog, this morning proved to be no different. The rain was as cold as steel and the air carried a chill that spoke as if to echo my heart.

When I got to work, my office neighbor could immediately tell that something was wrong; he came in and closed my door quietly asking if everything was all right or if I needed to talk. It's no secret that I wear my heart on my sleeve. I do not hide anything well. I never have. I probably never will.

The truth is I am okay. I am better than okay. I am perfectly happy and content with where I am in my life, and where I think I am going. But last night, as I sat on a steel bench at the Newark airport train station, a bench I know that I've sat on before many many years ago, head in hands tears in eyes wishing for one more minute, one more hour, one more day--I didn't feel okay. At that point, I wasn't sure how much time would have to pass until everything felt okay again. It was right then that I realized while it's understandable to feel the way that I do and it's acceptable to cry and to hurt, the only way to get through this, the only way to grow, to learn and to love is to become as strong as the steel bench upon which I sat. And so I took off my sunglasses, I wiped away my tears, I put on the iPod and a smile and did a little tap dance on the cement floor before I boarded a train to head home...