It's 12:03...
It's not really 12:03. It's almost 2 in the afternoon actually. The title of my blog comes from an epiphany I had around 5AM, a thought that near woke me up, but that I was already awake, but NOT at 12:03. As always, there is more to my story than just my story. A couple of examples will help in this case.
Last weekend, with the help of a dear friend, I made some attempt at cleaning my house. I am TERRIBLE at cleaning my house. I think I'm starting to pinpoint some reasons why. As I was straightening a bookshelf (which I've never straightened since I moved in this house over three years ago), I found my ex husband's jr. high school yearbook, several books belonging to the most recent disaster to call this house his home, and a stack of condolence cards sent to me after my mother passed away.
I'm not a TOTAL packrat, per se - holding on to random things simply for the sake of holding on - but when it comes to places where my heart has invested - I am AWFUL.
So my dear, wonderful Michelle (don't tell her I said that) offers to help - to literally hold my hand & scrub my floors. She finds, on my refrigerator, a card given to me by an old friend, who is no longer a friend. A woman who, at one point in her life, sent me a card telling me how wonderful and important our two decade long friendship was - who, in another moment, opted to kick me while I was down in a brutal way and then not speak to me for almost 10 months - that woman is enshrined on my refrigerator.
Michelle was kind enough to throw away the card. But that empty space on my refrigerator hurt. Empty spaces hurt me.
New Years Eve. Midnight. I'm sitting in a friend's basement, witnessing about 10 couples ringing in the New Year in the traditional way. Again, an empty space. Granted, it's a space far preferrable to the space I found myself in when ringing IN 2006, but a painful, empty space nonetheless.
Fast forward 5 minutes. It's 12:05, and someone is moving towards me, wishing me happy new year. Kisses, hugs, I'm lifted from my seat, and I spent the next space of time among genuine, safe people, and I got plenty of kisses to boot. We toasted Mom, ate herring, and music prevailed til dawn and beyond.
On Tuesday, my cousin sent me a book she'd just finished. She sent along with it, a card. A card in which she shared with me the reasons she appreciates & loves me. It's hanging on my refrigerator right now.
I woke up last night, thinking about another area of my life which seems clearly to be approaching that farmiliar territory of disappointment. Once again, I've put myself out there in ridiculous measures, and appear (at this point in history) to be, once again, swinging from my own rope. Note my parenthetical tendency towards hope, even now.
So I'm awake at 5AM, and the thought occurs to me - It's 12:03AM. The moment I'm now in is only two minutes away from the moment two minutes from now. Twelve O Five's a coming... It always does.
The emptiness that I've always feared, the sting that I've gone to such foolish lengths to avoid - might it be a necessary evil? Might it be not at all evil, but rather a sweet, pregnant pause, as a way is paved for the rushing in of all that I might find wonderful & fulfilling?
What mistakes have I tolerated as I have attempted to shove SOMETHING - ANYTHING in lieu of NOTHING - into that blessed space? What glories have I missed out on? What might be waiting in the wings even now - even now, as I hesitate to give life to this philosophy by writing it out?
At 5AM, the idea was beautiful. Throughout the morning, as the words came to attatch themselves to it, it grew in sensibility. But, now, as 2:45 approaches, as Saturday night again looms, this typing is painful. To hope in what is not seen is to use muscles which I've allowed to atrophy.
And me with so much reason to have faith...
Last weekend, with the help of a dear friend, I made some attempt at cleaning my house. I am TERRIBLE at cleaning my house. I think I'm starting to pinpoint some reasons why. As I was straightening a bookshelf (which I've never straightened since I moved in this house over three years ago), I found my ex husband's jr. high school yearbook, several books belonging to the most recent disaster to call this house his home, and a stack of condolence cards sent to me after my mother passed away.
I'm not a TOTAL packrat, per se - holding on to random things simply for the sake of holding on - but when it comes to places where my heart has invested - I am AWFUL.
So my dear, wonderful Michelle (don't tell her I said that) offers to help - to literally hold my hand & scrub my floors. She finds, on my refrigerator, a card given to me by an old friend, who is no longer a friend. A woman who, at one point in her life, sent me a card telling me how wonderful and important our two decade long friendship was - who, in another moment, opted to kick me while I was down in a brutal way and then not speak to me for almost 10 months - that woman is enshrined on my refrigerator.
Michelle was kind enough to throw away the card. But that empty space on my refrigerator hurt. Empty spaces hurt me.
New Years Eve. Midnight. I'm sitting in a friend's basement, witnessing about 10 couples ringing in the New Year in the traditional way. Again, an empty space. Granted, it's a space far preferrable to the space I found myself in when ringing IN 2006, but a painful, empty space nonetheless.
Fast forward 5 minutes. It's 12:05, and someone is moving towards me, wishing me happy new year. Kisses, hugs, I'm lifted from my seat, and I spent the next space of time among genuine, safe people, and I got plenty of kisses to boot. We toasted Mom, ate herring, and music prevailed til dawn and beyond.
On Tuesday, my cousin sent me a book she'd just finished. She sent along with it, a card. A card in which she shared with me the reasons she appreciates & loves me. It's hanging on my refrigerator right now.
I woke up last night, thinking about another area of my life which seems clearly to be approaching that farmiliar territory of disappointment. Once again, I've put myself out there in ridiculous measures, and appear (at this point in history) to be, once again, swinging from my own rope. Note my parenthetical tendency towards hope, even now.
So I'm awake at 5AM, and the thought occurs to me - It's 12:03AM. The moment I'm now in is only two minutes away from the moment two minutes from now. Twelve O Five's a coming... It always does.
The emptiness that I've always feared, the sting that I've gone to such foolish lengths to avoid - might it be a necessary evil? Might it be not at all evil, but rather a sweet, pregnant pause, as a way is paved for the rushing in of all that I might find wonderful & fulfilling?
What mistakes have I tolerated as I have attempted to shove SOMETHING - ANYTHING in lieu of NOTHING - into that blessed space? What glories have I missed out on? What might be waiting in the wings even now - even now, as I hesitate to give life to this philosophy by writing it out?
At 5AM, the idea was beautiful. Throughout the morning, as the words came to attatch themselves to it, it grew in sensibility. But, now, as 2:45 approaches, as Saturday night again looms, this typing is painful. To hope in what is not seen is to use muscles which I've allowed to atrophy.
And me with so much reason to have faith...
posted by JennW7773 | 12:40 PM
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