A year passed. Anniversaries knocked against my still-fragile mind like branches against an unsheltered window in a storm. Three hundred and sixty-six days after I lost my husband, I again stood in front of the security line at Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson airport. One year ago, I stood ensconced in my husband’s arms for the last time before I left to reconnect with my father. One year hence, I stood with my new boyfriend, trying not to crumple under the memories as he embraced me before sending me on my way to see my mother’s side of the family. My past, present, and future all collided in front of the TSA poster that advised travelers about carry-on restrictions. I wasn’t worried about the contents of my bag; I was still carrying dangerous cargo in my heart.
Tuesday was a huge victory for me. It was the first day since July of 2009 that I passed by the location where I last saw my husband where I not only didn’t relive the scene, but I didn’t even recall it until much later.
There is a balance between exposure and avoidance that allows trigger places like this to lose their power in time. It’s not easy – it takes the patience to wait and the strength to face your tormentor. Don’t rush it but also know that it can happen for you as well. The effort and waiting is so worth it because it is such an amazing feeling when you realize that those places cannot hurt you anymore. On Tuesday, I wasn’t worried about passing through security; I had already released the dangerous cargo.
The trip relates to some exciting news about this blog. More information to come soon! 🙂
Brahmeid Moth (Brahmaea wallichii insulata) at Leader Village Hotel, Buluowan, Taiwan. Photographed on 1 March 2009. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Now that the oppressive heat has finally broken in the South, the AC is off and the windows are wide open. We are fortunate to live in a home with plenty of windows that backs onto a wooded area that is infused with the sounds of nature. We are unfortunate that this same house is a rental with missing and torn screens that allow the nature to come right in and make itself at home.
While I was waiting for the coffee to percolate yesterday morning, I noticed a huge (and beautifully-patterned) moth beating furtively against the wall behind the sink. It had been drawn to the light above that we leave on at night. The moth appeared exhausted; its energy stores had been depleted in its fruitless endeavor to reach the light. If it continued along this path, it would surely perish. Meanwhile, an open (and screenless!) window lay mere feet away, entirely unnoticed by the fatigued moth. I used a cup to gently scoop up the insect and I released it into the crisp morning air just outside the window where it could chase the emerging sun rather than the false call of the flourescent bulb.
Open Window Season (Photo credit: Chiot’s Run)
We often act like moths, drawn to false promises that dazzle us with overwhelming light rather than waiting for the real thing. Once we are hypnotized by that which draws us, we can easily get lost. Stuck. Beating ourselves against a wall that will not yield. Sometimes, we need the perspective of another to scoop us up and release us into the open window that we cannot see.
In my life, work is my false light. It pulls me and consumes me. It leads me to believe that satisfaction and contentment can be found through accomplishment. However, it is never done. I am lucky to have people around me that will point me towards the open window and the rest of the world that exists outside my office. Being aware of the false light that pulls me has helped me avoid its call, yet I still need a helping hand to scoop me up at times.
I just hope they don’t throw me out the kitchen window 🙂
I have always been a huge fan of Stephen King. He has a magical way of delving into the wonderment and wisdom inherent in the ten-year-old’s mind which paints a world we all remember yet no longer are privy to as adults. He carries this slightly off perspective through his adult characters as well, showing us a perspective we all know yet seem to forget.
His book Insomnia was published my junior year of high school, during that grey period where you simultaneously straddle the worlds of childhood and adulthood. One line from that book stayed in my mind for the entire year, most likely due to the sing-songy quality with which my internal voice read it.
Done bun can’t be undone.
I never really thought what that line meant until just recently. Literally, once the bread is baked, there is no going back to the dough.
How much effort do we waste in our lives trying to undo done buns? How often do we lament “the way things were” and we try to navigate back to them? How much time do we spend replaying past decisions and mentally taking new paths?
I find it interesting that the book was released the same year I began dating my now ex-husband. Those fateful words were spooling through my head during our courtship. Done bun can’t be undone.
Rather than fight against the past, I have learned to accept it. Would I do it over again the same way? It doesn’t matter. I don’t have that option. Instead, I try to take the past as a starting point.
A done bun can’t be undone, but it can be enjoyed with a pat of butter and a hot mug of tea.
English: A scenic photo taken near Madison, Wisconsin of a red pine (Pinus resinosa). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I learned how to garden before I ever learned how to cultivate my own life. My introduction to gardening came with the planting of a single bald cypress sapling, its spindly form centered in an enormous mound of amended soil encircled by a protective fence. Over the years, I perfected my techniques until I knew exactly what to do to grow a healthy and beautiful tree. Those years spent with my hands in the soil taught me many lessons that I now apply to the rest of my life.
Digging In
With my first tree, I had not yet found the balance between effort and effect. My three-foot sapling sat in a hole that required moving what felt like a metric ton of dense Georgia red clay. That amount of effort was not sustainable for the dozens of other trees that were eventually planted. I learned to dig wide, avoid the roots, and focus on loosening rather than removing the soil. This method still made the trees happy yet did not cause me misery in the process. Outside the garden, life should be a balance between effort and ease. Do not be afraid to work hard but do not work harder than necessary.
Amending the Soil
The existing soil in my one-acre plot was inhospitable to sensitive roots; its clay base would not allow air to circulate and would suffocate the life out of young trees if it was left to its own devices. However, if I amended the soil too much, the roots would never learn how to survive in the more difficult terrain once they outgrew their initial hole. I had to find the right balance between hard clay and soft soil to provide a safe environment for the saplings that would still allow them to venture out into the harsher world. Be aware of much you amend your own surroundings in your life. It’s good to be comfortable but be careful that you are not so snug that you cannot grow and expand beyond your current boundaries.
English: A picture of compost soil (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Support Only When Needed
I have to chuckle when I see young trees corseted up in bindings and stakes like a character in Fifty Shades of Grey. This support certainly prevents the immature roots from pulling out of the soil or the narrow trunk from snapping in the wind, but it also keeps the tree weak. A tree that has never had to face the buffeting wind or driving rains unprotected will not learn how to become strong in the face of adversity. I let my trees fend for themselves in all but the harshest storms, where I would run out into the yard and throw heavy bags around their bases to act as temporary anchors. Support is wonderful when it is needed but it should only be used as much as it is necessary. It’s important to be able to accept help when you need it but also recognize when you can do it on your own. Once your roots are established, it’s time to let your trunk grow strong.
Use Natural Fertilizer
With my first tree, I fell sway to the advertising. I surrounded my tree with granules and mixed fertilizers into the water in the hopes of helping my tree grow faster and become healthier. The tree showed no response, but my wallet sure did. Once I switched to natural compost, the trees and my wallet thrived. I look at most fertilizers like processed foods – you pay a premium for a product when the natural form is often cheaper and better. In fertilizer as with food, there is often an inverse relationship between advertising dollars and the healthfulness of a product. Nourish your body with natural foods and allow them to fertilize your health and vitality. Your vibrant body can then become the advertising.
Water Deeply
I made the classic beginner’s mistake – I watered my new plantings frequently, but briefly, scattering drops of water that never fully penetrated the surface of the soil. Although the trees appeared to be sitting in moist soil, the needed water never made it to their parched roots. I learned that the best way to water the roots is to leave the hose dripping near the trunk for hours. Proper watering cannot be rushed. I am sometimes guilty of shallow watering in life as well. I may find myself in a yoga class but my mind is elsewhere. I might be at a romantic dinner while my brain is planning for work. Or, in my biggest struggle, I rush through meditation without allowing the peace to soak in. In your life, fully commit to what you choose to do so that you can gain the full benefits.
Let the Light In
Pruning hurts. I was scared to make those first cuts, very aware that they were permanent. I was afraid I would ruin my tree, afraid that it would never be the same. The fear was unfounded. Although the tree looked alien at first, its white scars advertising the new cuts, I soon grew used to its new appearance. The removal of some of the unneeded branches allowed light to permeate the canopy which before had cast darkness on all around it. New plants were able to dance in the sun that now filtered through the tree. I faced the most painful pruning of all in life – the removal of a husband. Like with my trees, it took time to adapt and adjust to the new reality, but now there is light beneath the canopy. Sometimes we have to prune back some branches in our lives to let the sun in.
Plant Companions
My first tree was a loner for a season, standing tall in a sea of grass. Over the next few years, I planted companions, shrubs and perennials that kept the sapling company and enhanced its beauty. A wonderful symbiosis began to occur; the tree provided needed shelter from the hot Georgia sun and the companions held in the moisture around the base of the tree. In your life, choose companions that enhance your beauty and find ways to improve their lives as well. An abundant life is always more glorious than a single tree standing alone.
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 