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Posts Tagged ‘wonder’

‎When we were younger we used to have sleep overs in the basement, staying up late into the night watching wrestling on TV (why, I’m not really sure)! We used to talk and joke and fight and annoy and generally speaking, we had each other’s back.

But that was then, and this is now and now I don’t remember the last time we talked or joked and I can’t even begin to guess how to have your back.

There used to be inside jokes and sideways glances and kicks under the kitchen table. I used to hear a song and think of us sitting in your room, listening to it over and over on the CD player I wasn’t allowed to touch.

It never used to be a question of whether we were close or not – we lived the first 18 years of my life sleeping ten feet apart. Close? Of course – we didn’t really have a choice.

But then I moved and you moved and closeness wasn’t a given and when it became a choice, we both seemed to choose other things.

And now I don’t know how to go back. Or, if I’m going to be really honest, I don’t know if I want to make the effort required to go back. And that makes me feel bad. I should want to be closer to you, I should want to reconnect but I just can’t seem to get there.

I should try harder, could try harder, would try harder if only. There always seems to be something getting in the way. I don’t know where to begin, I don’t know where it will end. I don’t know how to start the conversation and the fear of awkward silences looms large.

It used to be so much easier. I used to know the short-hand of your life and the names and places and things that made up your world. Our relationship used to be one long conversation, and now it feels like painful cocktail party small talk.

Maybe one day I will find a way, we will find a way. Maybe one day I will decide the work and effort is worth it.

I hope so, because I do miss you, or at least I miss who you used to be to the person I used to be.

Maybe one day.

But for now I will continue to wonder and wish and contemplate.

What happened to us.

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‎Sometimes I find myself overwhelmed by everything I don’t know. I feel it swarming around me like dust being blown from a table, swirling and dancing about in the sunlight before it settles down once again.

There seems to be so much of it these days; so much that I don’t even know how to start wading through it all. And with it all inevitably comes the doubt that piles on top, making me wonder if there are even more things I don’t know, I just haven’t realized them yet.

It’s hard. It’s a hard, sticky place to be and, having been here before, I know it’s easy to get stuck here. It’s so easy to get lost in the down and out and forget about all of the ups that still exist, no matter how well they are hidden right now.

But I will try. I will try because what else is there to do? Succumbing to ‎the doubts never serve any purpose but to make it harder to see the outside. If I keep my head down much longer I may just forget how beautiful it is to look up.

So I will try. I will try not to think of the things I don’t know, the things I don’t understand, the things I don’t feel. And instead I will remember the certainties that follow me as I go; the things that will always be there to prop me up when I stumble.

I know the beautiful feeling of cracking open a new book, quickly escaping into the lives of those who live in its pages.

I know the love of spontaneous hug, small arms wrapped tightly around my waist and cheeks rubbing against the softness of my middle.

I know the choices I have made that have turned out more perfectly than I could have ever imagined, and the inherent satisfaction that can only come from following my heart.

I know the way things click into place when I find the right words, and the way that getting them out of my head and down on paper makes the load seem just a little bit lighter.

I know the people in my life who understand me and still choose to love me, those who hold my hand and show me the way through the dark, those who know that’s truly the only way to appreciate the light.

These are the things I know, and I will remind myself that one day I won’t have to work so hard to remember what I know to be true.

One day those are the things that will fill all the spaces in my head where the questions now live.

One day.

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I thought it would be harder.

I thought when the time came to finally say goodbye I would contemplate the moment, rolling it over and over in my head until I analyzed myself out of actually doing it. I’ve done it enough times to assume that’s the way it would happen this time too.

But I was wrong; this time something was different.

They were the maternity clothes that I wore long after I had any business wearing them. The fashionable (or so I thought) capri pants that were the only thing that fit after baby but before regular clothes. The red t-shirt I wore to the hospital hours before my son was born, which I told myself looked just like a regular t-shirt so it was okay. They were my favourites; the ones I hung on to long after the others were passed along to a friend of a friend who was expecting. They were the ones I refused to let go of.

I found the bag in my closet about a year ago and dug them out to look through. I had a moment sitting on the floor of my closet and then I put the bag in the trunk of my car. I thought it was time. I had a friend at work who was having a baby and I thought she might as well get some use out of them.

That was what I told myself anyway.

But as the days turned into weeks the bag took up permanent residence in the back of my car. I couldn’t give them away, but I couldn’t justify bringing them back into the house either. The bag was in limbo, just like I was. I couldn’t face making the decision so I didn’t.

The weeks turned into months and still the bag stayed in the back of my car. I would look at it every time I opened the trunk, but I wouldn’t allow myself to think about it. However, in reality it seemed like I thought of nothing else. The bag of clothes became a physical manifestation of the choice I was so afraid to make.

In my head I knew the clothes didn’t mean anything. I could keep the clothes and never decide to have another baby; or I could give them away and get pregnant tomorrow. It wasn’t the clothes. It was me.

But for some reason as long as that bag was rolling around in my trunk I felt like anything was possible. I had not closed any doors; or opened any for that matter. As long as the bag was there, things made sense. The decision could wait for another day.

We cleaned out the garage yesterday, piling up kids boots that had long been outgrown, yoga mats that had never seen the inside of a yoga class, kitchen tools that worked much better on TV than they ever did in my kitchen.

I was headed out to run some errands so we packed my car full of all the stuff and I said I would drop it off at Goodwill while I was out. When we got there my daughter helped me unload all of our treasures into a rolling bin and she started to push it to the drop off.

I told her to wait a second.

I grabbed the bag and stood there with it in my hand and waited to feel the familiar ache, but this time it didn’t come. This time I didn’t see what was missing; I only saw what wasn’t. My daughter turned and looked back at me. She was excited. After this errand we were going to shop for new shoes, and then to a movie, just her and I.

And so before I could think about it too much I ran up and threw the bag of clothes in the bin, watching as she rolled it away.

I knew in reality it didn’t mean anything, to an outside observer nothing had actually changed.

But to me it had.

The decision I had been fighting for so long had been made, in the one place that mattered the most: in my heart.

In the same way I knew all of the other times were the wrong time, I was now just as certain that this was the right time. I knew there would still be moments of sadness, but they would no longer be tainted with doubt, with questions, with anger.

And I was thankful I had waited; that I had trusted myself enough to know there would be a time when I could let go of that bag of clothes, and all it represented. A time when I would accept that in order to write a new story, you first have to close the cover on the old one.

I don’t know what that new story will be just yet, but I know I’m ready to find out.

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wondering

I wonder if positive thinking really does anything.

I wonder if getting excited about the possibility of something happening makes the disappointment worse when that something doesn’t actually happen.

I wonder if the brightness of the excitement makes the darkness of the disappointment even darker. I wonder if it’s better to just have the disappointment all on its own.

I wonder why the birds in the sky are flying in circles. Did they lose their way?

I wonder if the lady beside me can hear that I’m listening to Justin Bieber on my head phones. If she can, I wonder if I care.

I decide that I don’t.

I wonder how long it would take for anyone to notice if I decided to just ride the train all day, looking out the window, wondering.

I wonder who I would be if I could be someone different. Like that girl down there with the beautiful hair; I wonder what it would be like to be her.

I wonder if, right now, someone is wondering what it would be like to be me.

I wonder why I wonder about the things I do.

I wonder what other people wonder about.

I wonder if they have more answers than I do. I tend to have all of the questions; maybe someone out there has all of the answers to all of my questions and it’s just a matter of finding them.

I wonder if this is making any sense at all.

I wonder if I care if it makes sense.

I decide that I don’t.

Sometimes it’s just about the wonder.

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