What is it that makes me believe the soft animal of my body1 never gets to unravel?
Never tires of over-delivering on promises to:
children and bosses and parents and lovers and siblings and friends and coworkers and the sad-looking woman behind the checkout counter.
What is is about the way I perform my life?
Perfect movements like a symphony:
hit every note/ace every test/crush every metric/gold star collector
Never slow to admire or appear to tire.
Bending to every will and inclination—unaware of my own.
What is it about an eldest daughter?
Unanimous faith in my capacity to make it happen: A resounding, “She’s got it!”
Yet I never considered my capacity to ignore the little girl inside who used to sneak around the neighborhood pretending to be Harriet the Spy?
Thanks Mary Oliver for this perfect phrase.