I left something vital on my pillow upon waking one morning.
At breakfast I thought I had left my brains behind, sitting like a large carnelian stone in the depression created by its weight. At lunch I thought I had left my sanity behind, pooling and dripping off my contoured pillow to the pillow-top mattress. Later I thought I had left my logic behind, hungover and dozing beneath heavy quilts.
All day long I had a nagging notion that something slipped from me in my dreams and waited on my 500 thread count pillow case for me to scoop it back up.
Like a faithful dog awaits the return of its person, this thing I left behind sat and stared at the bedroom door while the sunlight tiptoed across the wall.
Whatever I left behind that morning hung heavy and wet like a towel turban about to fall free from my showered mane. Would this feeling last for just this day? Would it seep back into my skull upon my next slumber? Did I want it back?
By nightfall, I knew what I had unwittingly left upon my pillow. What I left behind made way for the most mindful, calm and pleasant day amidst my largest storm in recent years. I wanted to know what was missing so that I could recreate the ease of this day again and again. I wanted to pick up this missing thing from my sage colored pillow case and set it upon a shelf to collect dust. What I left on my pillow would become a reminder of the way I wanted to be in the world.
What I left on my pillow that morning was fear.
It was vital that I left it there.
In order to know what a courageous life might feel like.