It is almost impossible to be serious when the sun is shining. Almost. I found some time to be serious somewhere between my son giving my cheek a very wet kiss when I dropped him off at preschool and watching two stored up episodes of In Treatment this morning. This show has me fantasizing about sitting on a couch unloading every thought in my head to someone that is educated to listen. Where can I find someone like Paul but without all the neuroses?
A long time ago I had the equivalent of therapy in a year dedicated to finding my way again. The restoration of me. Or was it the resurrection of me? Either way I spent a year recovering from a car crash trying to come to terms with the magnitude of what happened.
I was trying to merge, forge my two selves together. The one before and the one after. The girl with feet and a few barely there scars and the girl with prosthetic feet with so many scars her body didn’t feel like her own. How was I going to get these two to meet in the middle…come to some kind of compromise where they could both exist?
There was a year of recovery. A year where there was enough time and space to meet the demand of getting my life back. Where I could sort and sift through my thoughts picking one up at a time instead of being chased by them. I could dwell on who I was and who I had become and join them with every emotion that goes into severing ties and creating new ones.
Lately, I find myself wanting that year. I don’t have a romantic version of what was. I know what kind of crazy that was. It’s the time I’m after. It’s the cocoon I want. Where I just get to be and live and grow and emerge from it a whole person.
It seems we are always confronted with befores and afters. We become mothers and fathers. We age. We find new jobs. Our plans fall through. New plans are formed. We face crisis. And when we do, when we become we are at the threshold of what was and what will be. Who am I? What do I want? What now?
We don’t want to leave everything behind, but we need to move forward. We’re unsure. It’s change, after all.
In my year of the equivalent of therapy I learned I could bring the former with me. I wasn’t going to look or be the same, but the core of me…the core is the same. The core can be stretched into any shape I am. I can’t replicate the cocoon that I want…I’m sure there are many of us that can’t have the cocoons we want, but we can give ourselves grace.
Grace…to make choices, to figure it out, and to stand at the threshold of change while we find our way.
In all things Easter
We had a good weekend of egg coloring, chocolate, egg hunting, paska (Have you heard of paska? My mom makes it every Easter. It’s this sweet bread that my mom covers, slathers in cream cheese icing…yum!) and more chocolate.