short of breath

Today my breath comes short. I scroll through Instagram and I see photos of beautiful yoga postures and videos of freeing vinyasas, I see captures of inspired sewing designs brilliantly executed, I see paint applied with fingers in a frenzied need to express and relate through colour and texture. I see musicians and dancers, movers and makers, writers and dreamers. I see words and leadership and teaching and relationship.

My breath comes short. 

It is too much some days, this world. It is too interesting, too complex, too big, too beautiful. 

I am too young, too old, too limited, too small. I want to see everything. I want to do everything. And the knowledge that I cannot, that it cannot be done...

My breath comes short.

The magnitude. The magnificence. It is too much. I am 36 years old and I cannot decide what I want to be when I grow up, because how can I possibly say "That" when there is also this over here and that over there and oh, look at those, too... And so I spin frantically, wanting to see and do and be and end up frozen in place, seeing and doing and being none of the things I so desperately want.

It is all too much. 

It is all just so beautiful.