That 30 minutes. That savage 30 minutes of expression, catharsis, of letting go, is always golden. And always will be.
But it’s not my ‘golden’ anymore.
It’s okay. It’s really okay. I’m trying to learn to get go. I used to burn for those moments. I used to long for the chance to become a whirlwind. But not any more. I have to be honest with myself. Tired, cynical, quietly angry. I simmer, smoulder. I no longer burn.
But it’s okay. Someone else can take the gold now. Someone else can be a whirlwind. When others are more successful than ever I was, I no longer even feel envy. Snag my threads on the door handle, fail to leave the room. Give me crumbs of comfort, love. Give me something.