This post is a simple reflection of my experience over the past several years.  Its been major change after major change after major change.  Some of them I chose or caused and some of them happen to all of us.  The fact is that life is difficult and painful sometimes, but it’s meaningful.  I will save this on my writing page too.  I’m still trying to decide what should be a  “post” versus a “page” on this blog site.  Please enjoy, although it doesn’t seem terribly cheery, it’s not meant to be sad or anything.

the spring river

I used to be so deliberate and focused, really a go getter.  I was creative and forceful at home and in the world; motivated by love, purpose and money.  I was dedicated to my family and what they needed and what only seemed right, to me.  I had an air of confidence: “we are going in this direction”, meaning right now too.  And I could push a whole team over the goal line…a one-woman offensive line, really.  I was never tired or afraid or uncertain.  Hungry though, and often aggravated.  But I was effective, very effective, and capable.  Like a spring river, I was cold and moving fast.  I’d chart a new course too, straight through a forest if I had to.  A real stoic-resolver, getting the job done.

what happened to me?

I blew up.  One day the pressure inside caught fire, and POW!  I burst into a thousand psychic pieces.  Like a thick tree struck by lightning … shattered, shredded.  I was no longer able to stick with a game plan.  I couldn’t remember my direction or even where I should be.  I couldn’t give my full attention to anybody or anything anymore.  Thoughts and purpose seemed to float off through gaping holes in my once thick armor.  My rugged spirit became un-contained, set loose in a hundred directions.  The wounds I collected were not small or temporary either, they were visible and exposed my brokenness, to everyone.  I seemed to drift on in shock for a long time.  I could sense life swirling by on all sides, but I wasn’t directing it, so what was the point of me?  My goal was to survive it.  To keep breathing.

I finally did catch my breath and it wasn’t easy.  I had to trade my panic for it.  And I noticed at some point that I wasn’t dead, just altogether different now.  I was submerged in grief.  But I started to hear much better there, sounds coming from deep inside myself.  A faint and peculiar noise that was enhanced by the water surrounding my inner mind.  Is it tears or laughter?  I really don’t know.  But the trickle of air, water and revelation became synchronized, and seemed to push me out of the dark.  I was covered in confusion, shame and remorse.  On the chilly surface I began to understand more of myself though: I was speechless, alone and unhinged from all I knew, but breathing.

With this awareness I continue on now, and I am learning that my worst fears, when realized, produced something useful for growing.  It’s like a muddy silt that contains countless minerals, but it smells awful.  Somehow this byproduct is good for polishing what I am uncovering.  For starters, I sleep well, and I am not contorted or drowning.  I don’t struggle to move currents anymore either.  And I am terribly interested in the confluence of things I notice around me.  Sometimes really simple things like patterns along a tree line that are not symmetrical but perfectly balanced.  And I appreciate certain smells like clean sheets after I’ve hung them out to dry in the fresh air.  I’ve become pretty good at uncertainty and being alone too.  I am not contrived.  And my favorite:  I know that I will be ok because the broken-off and torn-apart learn to manage in peace, and peace I find, is a sturdy life boat.