WHILE WAITING FOR OUR FRIEND IN THE TARGET BATHROOM ON THE WAY TO YOSEMITE

by Mara Lovelock

I forgot to charge the car–funny how there’s always something to feel guilty about and we’ll be setting up our tents in the rain in the dark because of me and his constipation and why is it that because I went through chemo and rape people think I should be able to handle things better when really I feel like the cosmos should take pity on me for the rest of my life, which might not be that long anyway and just let me breathe in the Sequoias and roast marshmallows with my son in peace, but also I’m eating salmon and kale for lunch in the air-conditioned car–my first new one but I’ve always had a car and healthy food and I grew up around poor but now I live in the richest part of the country and have probably somehow accidentally sold my soul to the tech bros.

In mindfulness we learn to write down our gratitudes to rewire our brains. So I’m grateful for the sound of my son crunching on potato straws in the back seat, a husband who didn’t get mad that I forgot to charge the car, twenty-year-old friendships from Spanish class sophomore year, the ginger sauce on my tongue, and I’d still rather be living in this moment than not living at all and I can’t wait for the jagged mountains to make all of this feel completely insignificant.