Friday, July 24, 2015
how our past comforts our present
I was going through shop stock the other night. I felt unorganized and messy plus wanted to be sure everything I've made is laying flat while awaiting purchasing. So, I emptied the old dresser that's now an Etsy Shop Organizer (novel how we can just redefine things with little to no warning, right?) and stood over the mass of paintings that were now decorating the floor. I looked over the colors and words and felt a strange pit form in the bottom of my stomach.
I'd thought about this moment for months, thought about what it'd be like to pour over the things I've made and the people who've bought them. I imagined it brimming to the top with a special sparkling sort of pride. I thought I'd be relieved to have taken the leap, proud to have handled my first month in a somewhat balanced approach, thankful to stay from the depths of discouragement. Instead, I felt embarrassed.
I looked down at puddles of pink and green paint covering papers and my cheeks burned. I was alone, but I felt naked in front of the world. I felt naked the way I did when I started writing about Popsicle.
I've been struggling to write. I've been pouring so many emotions into the bristles at the end of my brushes that I've set down pen and paper for the time being. It's comfortable that way, but it leaves my writing practice to wane. Words have come to feel heavy and awkward and difficult to manipulate. It's frustrating. But, it's the reality of a life balanced.
When it's time to write, I cruise through old posts to get my mind going. They're posts that grew from a deeply emotional time. They were beautiful, are beautiful still. But I'm not in that place anymore. I'm not there, I'm three and a half years down the road and shocked to recognize the way it's all changed and yet it's all the same. I'm proud of the way I could shed my "life's perfect" shell I learned growing up in church and dance in my life's damaged plans, but I've grown from there.
I'm no longer in a place of worry and fear. I'm not ruled over by grief, constricted by the unknowns of disease. I'm not afraid of death's sting or my God's judgement. I'm in a place that's beautiful and questioning and graceful and thoughtful. I'm comfortable like I am during long runs -with just the right balance of rote familiarity and novel challenge.
The past is what comforts my now.
Those embarrassing pieces -in their amateur composition- and the heavy blog posts -with their soul-breaking truths- provided a foundation. They created a safe, solid place upon which I can continue to build and grow. They are reminders of where I was and beacons that shine on where I'm heading. They're allowed to feel naked and primal -isn't that where we all started?
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