"All the Time" by Elizabeth Leigh
Life was made up of sometimes and other times.
Sometimes she spent money on the overpriced organic food in the grocery store, and other times she bought packaged powdered doughnuts. Sometimes she donated more generously than was fiscally responsible to the Salvation Army bell ringers she encountered, and other times she found herself in a rush and irrationally annoyed by that homeless man who always pressured her for money on her route to work. Sometimes she spent her Saturday nights out on the town with friends or a date, and other times she kept company with her couch and cheap Chinese takeout.
Sometimes she felt like being confident, cool, and mysterious. She walked with a swish in her step, gracing those she passed with quick and careless smiles that left them slightly dazed, wondering who she was, what purpose lay behind her gait, and what thoughts distracted her. She didn’t have time to let them find out.
Other times she felt like being sweet, sociable, and genuine. Her step was punctuated by skips, and she dallied her way through the day, stopping for the conversations she wanted to have and doling out the real grins. She didn’t have time to waste pretending not to care.
Sometimes the universe spoiled her with blessings. She opened the copy of her letter of recommendation that read, “To Whom It May Concern: It is my great pleasure to write on behalf of such a naturally talented and hardworking young woman.” She was accepted into art school and left her waitressing job when fall rolled around, finally embarking on a blissful journey towards a career she hoped to love.
Other times the universe conspired against her. She opened the letter in the mail that read, “To Whom It May Concern: You are notified that payment of rent is hereby demanded of you. Failure to comply will result in the termination of your lease of the premises.” She secured a different late night restaurant shift and paid what was due, but that meant the draining of both the bank account and the energy necessary for getting her degree.
Sometimes she felt like dancing. She danced in the living room with her father when she was five years old, and he scooped her up, twirled her around in the air, and was the first man to make her feel beautiful. One night she danced with abandon at her best friend’s wedding reception, kicking off her shoes and singing along with every line of “Twist and Shout.”
Other times she felt like a dancing monkey. She danced at the bars and the clubs, under the influence of something that took away her choice and took control of her instead. One night she danced with abandonment of her dignity, and it struck her that none of the men watching made her feel beautiful.
Sometimes she felt like she was expanding. She expanded when the laughter started to rise up within her, brewing in the base of her stomach and filling her before bubbling over the edge and transforming from a sensation into a sound. Some nights she looked up at the vastness of the night sky, felt the breeze graze her cheeks, and every fiber of her seemed to be pulled towards it until she realized she could take on the world.
Other times she felt like she was shrinking. She shrank when the anxiety started to press up against her, attacking her mind and surrounding her like a cloud before reducing her and transforming from an irritation into an identity. Some nights she looked up at the vastness of the sky, felt the harsh wind nip at her cheeks, and every fiber of her seemed to be thrown into a frenzy until she realized the world might just crush her.
Sometimes she supposed that was how one ended up remaining roughly the same size.
Sometimes she tucked herself into bed at night weighed down by the day, and other times she felt as light as the feathers in her pillow. But always, no matter the time, she was herself, and this was her life: joyful, miserable, confused, amused, frightened, right, wrong, inconsistent, ugly, lovely, ebbing and flowing.
Not sometimes, not other times, but all the time.
Life was made up of sometimes and other times.
Sometimes she spent money on the overpriced organic food in the grocery store, and other times she bought packaged powdered doughnuts. Sometimes she donated more generously than was fiscally responsible to the Salvation Army bell ringers she encountered, and other times she found herself in a rush and irrationally annoyed by that homeless man who always pressured her for money on her route to work. Sometimes she spent her Saturday nights out on the town with friends or a date, and other times she kept company with her couch and cheap Chinese takeout.
Sometimes she felt like being confident, cool, and mysterious. She walked with a swish in her step, gracing those she passed with quick and careless smiles that left them slightly dazed, wondering who she was, what purpose lay behind her gait, and what thoughts distracted her. She didn’t have time to let them find out.
Other times she felt like being sweet, sociable, and genuine. Her step was punctuated by skips, and she dallied her way through the day, stopping for the conversations she wanted to have and doling out the real grins. She didn’t have time to waste pretending not to care.
Sometimes the universe spoiled her with blessings. She opened the copy of her letter of recommendation that read, “To Whom It May Concern: It is my great pleasure to write on behalf of such a naturally talented and hardworking young woman.” She was accepted into art school and left her waitressing job when fall rolled around, finally embarking on a blissful journey towards a career she hoped to love.
Other times the universe conspired against her. She opened the letter in the mail that read, “To Whom It May Concern: You are notified that payment of rent is hereby demanded of you. Failure to comply will result in the termination of your lease of the premises.” She secured a different late night restaurant shift and paid what was due, but that meant the draining of both the bank account and the energy necessary for getting her degree.
Sometimes she felt like dancing. She danced in the living room with her father when she was five years old, and he scooped her up, twirled her around in the air, and was the first man to make her feel beautiful. One night she danced with abandon at her best friend’s wedding reception, kicking off her shoes and singing along with every line of “Twist and Shout.”
Other times she felt like a dancing monkey. She danced at the bars and the clubs, under the influence of something that took away her choice and took control of her instead. One night she danced with abandonment of her dignity, and it struck her that none of the men watching made her feel beautiful.
Sometimes she felt like she was expanding. She expanded when the laughter started to rise up within her, brewing in the base of her stomach and filling her before bubbling over the edge and transforming from a sensation into a sound. Some nights she looked up at the vastness of the night sky, felt the breeze graze her cheeks, and every fiber of her seemed to be pulled towards it until she realized she could take on the world.
Other times she felt like she was shrinking. She shrank when the anxiety started to press up against her, attacking her mind and surrounding her like a cloud before reducing her and transforming from an irritation into an identity. Some nights she looked up at the vastness of the sky, felt the harsh wind nip at her cheeks, and every fiber of her seemed to be thrown into a frenzy until she realized the world might just crush her.
Sometimes she supposed that was how one ended up remaining roughly the same size.
Sometimes she tucked herself into bed at night weighed down by the day, and other times she felt as light as the feathers in her pillow. But always, no matter the time, she was herself, and this was her life: joyful, miserable, confused, amused, frightened, right, wrong, inconsistent, ugly, lovely, ebbing and flowing.
Not sometimes, not other times, but all the time.