Jenni Brown Writes.

On Peace.

January24

I’ve been listening to this song on repeat all day long. And I cannot exactly place the emotion that it brings up. I just know that I have been sitting at my desk, paralyzed for nearly a half an hour. Still. Not moving. Just breathing.

It reminds me of quite moments that are so silent, the only thing you can hear is the sound of the wind and your own breath.

And so you just stand there, breathing.

This past year has been a complete whirlwind for me – two promotions, a new job, a move from southern california to downtown San Francisco,  a new apartment, new friends, an engagement, endless parties, a wedding, a husband. Its astounding to think about about all of the change that I have gone through in the last twelve months.

While I sit and think back through all of these things, I am caught in a place between laughter and tears.

Exhausted. Finished. Weary. Yet, bright. Lifted. Full.

This year has given me so many things.

A year of gratefulness, a year of joy, a year of champaign toasts, a year of party dresses, and a year of falling to sleep to a smile.

My heart feels full. My heart feel exhausted. My heart cannot absorb any more of the things that life has to offer. I am over my limits, stretched to all sides, wearing thin.

And a heart that stretched thin with change and joy, sounds just like this song.

It sounds still.

It sounds soft.

It sounds like breathing.

Maybe this is what peace sounds like. Like that moment at the end of a yoga class, when you’ve sweat, and stretched, and given everything you have to offer your practice. And when it’s all over, you take a moment to thank your body for being amazing. You thank it for bending and pushing, and enduring everything you have asked of it. And you lay on your mat, in a silent room, and you breathe.

So, with a lump in my throat, and a smile on my face, I am sitting at my desk paralyzed. Breathing. Thanking the universe for the gift of this year. For the promotions, and the husbands, and the parties. Giving my body a moment to rest, and absorb and enduring everything that I have asked of it.

Breathing.

And breathing.

And breathing.

And breathing.

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