restore my soul

I lean over the counter at the doctor's office and take in the "prime time drama" aura. Rachel and I trade gossip in a hushed whisper. We make birthday plans. We berate Brangelina.

I tell her how nervous I am to be going to New York tomorrow. Where normally I would be thrilled, I am quite simply not. For a multitude of reasons that are too exhausting to explain here.

The Rabbi Harold Kushner says, in an examination of the 23rd Psalm - that we, humans can become overwhelmingly busy. So much so in fact that we neglect our very souls and sometimes it becomes necessary for us to take a moment to stop - so our souls can catch up to us. "He restores my soul..."

I don't tell Rachel this. That I feel like I need my soul to catch up to me. That I've been thinking at such a massive rate that moments are becoming unnecessarily heavy. She knows all of this anyway. Still, I am nervous. And I dare say, I'd pass the trip up all together.

Still, she talks me down. Calms me down. We go back to trading gossip and making birthday plans. I feel relief.

Of course now...after sitting in a quiet, and painfully boring office for the better part of night - I am nervous again. It is nerve wracking to want something so much. Because you can't want without knowing there is a possibility you won't get it. That is the ache that wanting is. I want something to seep into my pores and inspire me. To wake me up. To restore my soul. I'm afraid I might not get it.

But I'll settle for a glimpse of the place I've always considered my real home.