Between Anchors
Idle Time | July 2026
I wrote this whilst listening to J’s Lullaby by Delaney Bailey.
What does living look like, am I meant to be anchored, or am I yet to reach the stage—the environment where I can finally take root, no longer searching for aimless pursuits or distracting myself with creative output that remains somewhat obtuse?
Or a substitute for acting on what all these interrogations uncovered.
That I’m at ease yet unsettled whenever I’m alone; how I feel trapped with no shackles in place—just the greyness of everyday—and get teary eyed whenever I’d feel your presence, and as my heart would whisper your name. Replaying all the many moments I wish we could’ve framed or got on tape.
Despite me being camera shy, I’d gladly be a participant in any scene or play. It’s like with you I always know the way; no steps are unbalanced and the weight distribution the same. So, unlike footsteps in the sand, but preordained in some kind of way—feeling less untethered, and grounded with you at my side, reminding me that all will come in due time.
Walk by faith and not by sight, and put down all the calculations that you have in your mind.
Have you meditated today? Gave yourself some quiet time? Did you share some kind words with that person in the mirror? Did you smile with your eyes? Did you genuinely cry out laughter, not of all you try to distract your mind?
‘You carry it all so well’ they say—but they’re yet to peek below the surface. If it wasn’t for the buoyancy, waterlogged would be my lungs.
They say be the hero of your story, even if it’s unsung. Even if they don’t sing your graces and tell tales of your Herculean feats—with copious amounts of hyperbole… you know, for dramatic effect.
And maybe my life won’t be legendary. Maybe no one will tell stories about it. But I still have to live it.
Day by day. Moment by moment.