It’s never easy to pull apart the central nervous system of your life. Tapping into each intricate detail and facing your truth takes courage.
There’s a mist lingering above the mountaintop this morning. I can see it from where I sit, nestled in a faux leather chair that hugs me gently. The flag is still as there is no breeze – not yet. And the water from the falls is tranquil. Perhaps still slumbering after an evening storm. I’m akin to that feeling of slumbering – of quieting down and being still.
Yet it never seems to last.
Soon, the bridge of flowers will lose their vibrancy and settle in for the long seasons ahead. But only after filling so many with spring and summer scents that pepper you with bliss – like the fragrance of the lilies that scream, “Smell me, pick me!” I am that Wanderer who stops and smells the flowers and admires how they bring life to even the faintest heart.
The bridge will close for a year for repair – not unlike how I closed myself off for a year to heal. Although, I was unaware of my wounds until I stepped away and focused. As I began to recall the most tender, dark, and laughable moments, I acknowledged my fractures. I didn’t address all of them. There is still work to accomplish. But I dug into that place within – my storage locker – and began to pull out the sweaty and worn gym clothes.
It’s never easy to pull apart the central nervous system of your life. Tapping into each intricate detail and facing your truth takes courage. And I had forgotten that I could be brave and love me for me.
How does that happen?
As I begin to unravel from that place I succumbed to, it’s only now that I see how much good stepping away did for me. Admittedly, I shut down. I turned off so much so I could turn on what mattered. I had blasted through the channels, unable to focus my attention. My body had changed. My emotions seemed out of control. And my focus had significant interruptions.
I write today from a place where I can see better because I slowly feel better. The landscape of the mountains looks different, and I’m more willing to climb. The sun warms me now and casts new light on something I’ve looked at repeatedly for years.
Me.
