2013.05.16 - The Middle of the Flower

I'm not "fine". Everything isn't just "OK".

I'm still getting up in the mornings. I'm still going to work. I'm still suiting up for what I need to do to earn money. But I'm not fine. I'm certainly acting that way sometimes. And sometimes I certainly feel that way. And it's true: I have moments where everything is just fine and dandy. And in those moments I forget what a string of losses I've suffered in the past two years: two cats, two parents and an uncle.

I'm still raw. I still hurt. I still want to crawl up into a ball and sob. But a lot of tears haven't come yet. Some have. Mostly what's come, though, is sleeplessness, troubling dreams and a desire to write every thank you note I can to make sure all that "work" is done and people know how polite I am that they showed up for me.

Also, I seem to want to change everything: my profession, what I do, where I live, the car I drive and, honestly — I can't do that. I'm going fucking crazy because I'm coping with loss by trying to control and bend everything around me to my will. I can't do that. It's not an obtainable goal. Certainly not at the expense of my sanity (or my wife's for that matter). And it's certainly not at all  a good idea to make all of these changes at once. Hell, I don't even know if it's worthwhile to make any of these changes in my current state.

For starters, none of these changes will bring my father back. Worse, I haven't thought through any of these changes. Not fully. And acting on incomplete impulses won't necessarily bring happiness. Changing my environment by changing my car or the location of my home won't necessarily bring happiness.

The trick is somewhere in the middle, in the pocket of the wave. Somewhere, in the middle of the wave is that sweet spot where I'm in harmony with my surroundings and everything is clear in the moment. Feeling my feelings, but not necessarily acting on them at every moment; considering possible changes and feeling how those changes make me feel but not necessarily acting on those changes without thorough investigation; trusting instincts but being able to discern them from stronger, sometimes overwhelming emotions.

The world goes on. People get up and go to work. And so, too, do I. And I do it today because, honestly: I don't know what else to do. Sometimes, the best thing to do when the unimaginable strikes is to do the ordinary. But to also trust that change is happening. And that I'm slowing unfolding and opening like a flower. The flower hasn't fully bloomed so I can't yet see what's in the middle. I'll need to wait for that.

But it will come.