Monday, August 11, 2014

Tiny Beginnings

Why this? An intro, a 'why am I here'.

Because it's time.  Because I'm inspired.  Because life is not slicing off little pieces of yourself to fit.  It's not torturing ourselves to appease each other.  It IS- or it should be- about continually figuring it out. Experiences, good or otherwise, that teach us what it is we're looking for. Tiny adventures.  New things.  New people who remind us of the best parts of ourselves and old friends who have seen that in us all along. The look on your face when you do something completely out of character and don't regret it in the least.

Where I've been: It's been a tumultuous, painful year, with bright spots tearing like stars through the darkness.  I lost a marriage that my ex and I both fought hard for, but in the end, couldn't save. I spent a month in a hospital room teaching my four year old how to eat again during the most crushing part of that break up. I've lost my daughter to the instability and uncertainty that accompanied our home life. I've made some mistakes I thought I couldn't be forgiven for. Just a few of the high points.  But only in those blackest moments could I see the things that theretofore were shadowed by obligation, by pride, by my own preconceived notions.  Softly gleaming souls stepped out from the corners.  They had to drag me, at first- these muted points of light that penetrated my sobbing, hyperventilating heart.  Sometimes they sat quietly. Sometimes they held my head in their lap while I unleashed the anguish I had been denying far too long. Sometimes they made raucous dirty jokes and poured whiskey down my throat. And sometimes they danced with me on dimly lit porches until five in the morning while the rain came down and turned our dirty feet to mud. And somewhere in the beer soaked mornings, sleeping on the floor, or the stairwell, the light began to come back.

The darkness began to wane and I saw glimpses of a self I stifled with years  of 'getting by' and being 'good enough'. I am learning to live with the spaces that used to be packed with 'need to' and 'should'.  I am singing music I turned off for years. I am evolving and devolving and deciding for myself.

And I have never been so thankful to have been hurt. I am grateful for my suffering because it forced me to crack wide open and find myself willing and ready to embrace life as it hurtles by at unrelenting speed.  AND HOLY SHIT do I love the ride!!

So that's why I'm here.  I'm still a suburban single mom hustling to take care of two kids- one with a disability and one who's now part time- holding down the job and wishing I could travel more.  That's everyone's story, right?  But I still get moments.  I get to run away with strangers and I get to sit in the sun drinking beer with my friends. I get to talk until the sun comes up. I get to dive into the minds of others and come up with new knowledge and compassion.  People have begun to inspire me again, in big ways.  My heart is open to receiving, I am in love with the world, and I am being rewarded in turn by the world falling in love with me. It's there, if you reach for it.

Adventure doesn't always mean crossing the globe. Sometimes it means meeting someone new, drinking a new beer, finding a spot in your own backyard where you can watch the fireflies light up the fence.  My aim is to find the wonder in the mundane.  So let's do this.

1 comment:

  1. I had a much longer comment, but my phone decided to eat it. I think I was just saying that I had no idea about the journey life had taken you on and that I am very glad to see that you have risen above it. It can be a struggle still, I am sure, but the positive outlook of this post is pretty inspiring. I, too, am of the formerly wed persuasion and even though time has passed, it still can weigh on the soul. I just wanted to say hello after reading your post. I think that is one thing that is nice about being so connected via the internet: you think about someone and you can look and play catch-up in no time at all. Sending you all the best. - Andy