I am learning that not all silence is the sound before something breaks.

For the last three Fridays, I’ve specifically gone up to the parkway where there’s no reception. Where lost signal takes away the music. Where only thoughts lay.

Each Friday is different.

Some days I pack a lunch.

Sometimes I make some tea in a canister.

I’m always there by 6:30 to watch the sunset.

I usually only stay for two hours and I write or I read or I stay quiet.

I’m now on chapter 3 of a short story.

And when I can’t write anymore, I stay still.

This seems like such a silly thing.

But my body learned fight or flight so well that stillness felt like surrender.

I am no longer asking every uncomfortable moment, ‘How do I get out of here?’ I am beginning to ask, ‘What happens if I stay?’”

And so I stay. Sometimes my thoughts have to stand up, make me cry, make me laugh, make me write.

But I stay.

The quiet used to expose me. Now it introduces me to myself.

It says, hello, we’ve been waiting for you.