The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?
This is guilt.
This is regret.
Guilt for being a heartbreaker.
Regret for not breaking soon enough.
Regrettable guilt for all of it.
Wanting what’s there. Longing for it.
Hating every moment you receive it.
A jungle gym of emotional awareness.
A hot pot of fear seasoned with dreams realized, deferred, and yet to be thought.
A stomach sickness that begins in the head.
A head wracked with equal parts self-certainty and self-doubt.
A test of will.
A test to see if you’re good enough for the long, unending haul.
When they will learn.
When will you learn?
This is as good as it gets.
You’re as good as you tell yourself.
Maybe they know more.
But it’s hard to hear them and care when you’re picking your stomach up from the floor
With your head in your hands and your heart in traction.
David Himmel is the author of the books Hope Idiotic, The Last DJ, and A Camp Story. An award-winning journalist, he has contributed to several news outlets including POLITICO and The Atlantic. Leader of his two sons and their dog, he's a sailor who does not spend enough time on his boat. Subscribe to his Substack, The Autopsy .
