My Lungs
I don’t remember when or who, but sometime, someone told me about a lung problem where it feels like you can only use half of your lungs. As if they were tied off in the middle. And no matter how hard you try, a full breath of air – deep and satisfying – is not possible. It sounds horrid. I feel a bit like that. Not with my lungs, but with expression, with my life, my passion… me. I feel I am only half as me as I once was, as I could be. I want to inhale the richness of that which I am experiencing, the personhood of those I meet, the beauty of each new morning, the privilege of being alive and I want to exhale love, expression, story, self. But my metaphorical lungs are only working at half capacity. And I want to blame the language. German is caging me in, inhibiting who I really am from coming out. I scramble for the words to explain to tell a story, to convey a feeling. And all I ever do is trip and fumble. The things I leave unsaid have piled high inside me. Unsaid for f...