I haven’t heard the world around me in so long.

Inside my brain is a turntable, going round and round with the same problems, always spinning to the future. 

It has always done this. 

It skips and replays until everything sounds so fuzzy, I can’t hear my own body breathe.

I get so clenched up inside.

The worries stack on.

The more I try to hear the world outside, the louder the static gets. The record just spins and spins.

I’ve sat by this record player so long, I don’t know how to do anything else.

So I wait.

I wait for clarity. I wait for peace.

I sit beside my circling record player, hearing everything and nothing, hoping one day something will cut through the noise.

I know there are beautiful things happening out there. 

But how do I hear them with my record always getting louder?

The funny thing about the record in my head is I think it’s scratching me. 

So I’m done now. 

This record has played a long time, and it’s scratched me up enough.

I’m taking off the needle. 

I have all the strength I need. I’m standing up.

Here is where I will face my problems.

Here is where I will finally hear something new.

Because I’m putting on a new record, one that stays here and plays a song just for this moment.
And this record, it never sounds the same.

Photo thanks to Jakob Rosen on Unsplash