For now we see through a glass, darkly
Feb 4th, 2010 by Wendy
The theme of reinvention seems to be a thread winding through much of this snakeskin journey. For a large part it’s been a forced theme, at least initially coming in my case from the sudden death of a spouse a decade ago. (“Who am I now?”) Forced because I do not believe I would have been brave or strong enough to make this journey if I hadn’t been kicked to the curb by loss.
I’m willing to admit that it took at least five years for me to truly understand there would be another chapter—perhaps even a book—to my life. Those first five years were a muddle of raising teenagers, becoming a contractor, leaving behind my beloved work as an administrator and cheerleader for a tiny school. They were years spent drifting through layers of fog and sifting through deep and dark emotions with occasional glimpses of the sun.
After that came a willingness to peek out again and try to see anew what life might hold for me as an individual, mother, friend, business person, daughter and sister. Thus began what came to feel like a giant game of “catch-up”, with me never feeling quite adequate to the challenges. Part of the dilemma resulted from my ability to mask my confusion and struggles enough to convince my friends and family (and even myself much of the time) that I was “doing OK”. ”Doing OK” is an acceptable response to that question we all ask whether we are seeking an answer or just passing by. Don’t misunderstand me, I realize we can’t go all sincere and honest on people when faced with a casual “how are you?”. But when tackling the hard bits, the truly festering boils life sometimes produces, we need more than an acceptable response.
My “catch-up” game, quite frankly, caught up with me and is even now forcing me to face myself and come to grips. My arms ache from the gripping, my shoulders no longer remember to relax naturally and my chest tightens in reflex to the challenge of reinvention. If this all sounds too grim, please give yourself permission to walk away but it is in fact just life. And it is a life I intend to say yes to even as I continue to peel away the layers (skins, if you will) that have led to and kept me in this state of tension.
I have never much feared going against the grain when called for, but I am only beginning to comprehend how much I have feared facing my own failures and solitary self. I can laugh when I think that as much as I have prided myself on trying to love others for just who they are, I rarely do the same for myself. So this reinvention cannot be about changing in order to become acceptable, but rather changing to embrace what “is”.
You’ll probably laugh, but I believe your life and this blog could make a darn good movie or special or documentary highlighting an ordinary circumstantial life wrapped up in the challenges of today. At least, I see it that way.
I guess one of the fascinations of blogs is that you can know someone and know who they are to you, and then you can read some of their internal thoughts written down and see that person in a completely different light you would have never imagined. I really love this about blogging. It is so fascinating that I can have an image of you in my mind, full of happiness and love all around you, yet, your struggles are much the same as mine – embracing what “is”. I love that. There is something thrilling about the contrast between what we imagine something to be and what it really in fact is in its heart.
This is your best post ever. To me, this is the real you – staring at life in the face and standing your ground, calling it like it is, without despairing over the difficulty. I never thought you were “ok” when you said it – frankly, none of us are, really. I still think you have an entire novel to write, though you may not really begin that one for a few years yet. You have too many gifts to be playing catch-up forever. It will eventually be time for you to play something new – something that blesses so many others. That is your gift, and I hope that you get a chance to use it more fully in the years ahead.