Dear June

Dear June,

You were a month in the year 2020. During this time, I told my European neighbors that life felt like Groundhog Dog. Their nonplussed response and subsequent tilts of the head sparked me to explain both the holiday on February 2, as well as the movie, featuring Bill Murray. I considered myself to have represented US American culture well in the month of June.


Dear June,

Had 2020 unfolded differently, I might have seen the sun shine over the desert in the southwest corner of the United States. I might listened to the descending descant of the canyon wren, which always ends in a little chirrup. I might have climbed up a rocky outcrop and looked out over an unending landscape and felt, even in the desert, the spaciousness that a great expanse of water can bring.


Dear June,

Thank you for gracing my cheeks with the blessed Belgian sun, an oft rare occurrence even in the summertime. The forest with its myriad shades of green. Flowers opening, petals falling to the ground. Iridescent beetles and cold bumblebees for me to place in a sunny spot. Hours upon hours, miles upon miles, walking with and being pulled by a zealous white dog.


Dear June,

You reminded me that even in sunshine I can feel the overwhelming shadow of depression. The sensitivity to sound and the constant claustrophobic presence of people. Everywhere. All. The. Time. I am not like everyone else. I have something broken inside of me, and I have spent decades trying to fill it without success.


Dear June,

In your midst I was reminded by my body, my heart, and my mind that I am not a mother. I wondered if this was where the emptiness came from, but I realized that the desire for a child was perhaps just one more longing. If I just can get this one last thing, then I will feel whole. The Buddhist voice inside me tells me I have to learn to accept the emptiness, to lean into discomfort. The child inside of me tells me they are tired of being uncomfortable and sad.


Dear June,

I woke up one morning with the clarity that comes from a vivid dream. In the dream, I experienced an epiphany that put everything into place. I was not broken or empty. I was simply the embodiment of the saying, “stir crazy.” I am restless soul. I need to wander. And for four years, I have remained in one place, in one house, leaving these four walls only rarely. I have not seen the sea. This is not a recipe for sanity for me.


Dear June,

I know you are not here to stay. In fact, this is your final day. Where are we headed, you and I? Is it just until July, and once again we say goodbye?

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