(no subject)

At least once per week, over the past several weeks, I've come close to crying at a certain point on my morning commute. Missed opportunities, ignored calls, continually letting myself down: looking over what I've written, I'm failing to communicate the spiritual and emotional floodgates threatening to open. It's not just, or even primarily, a crisis of aging I don't think. I feel bound by the demands and habits of daily life such that the possibility for growth or adventure feels out of reach.