It's okay.
I sit there - tears donning my face - short breaths - trying to say: "But,... I don't know how to do that. How do I do that?"
She seems to be smiling - but I can't be sure - as she says, "You don't know how to do what, hon?"
"How to be," I say.
She chuckles. I turn to her now - why's that funny?
"You don't know how to do that? To be?"
I start to shake my head until I realize, Ha!, of course that's funny. Do be do be do. There is no doing in being.
"You are being right now," she says, as she puts her hand on my arm, and I keep crying, staring at my empty latte mug, being me.
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