Those were the words I used to close my last post. It’s with a mix of reverence and perplexed bemusement that I contemplate them now. After two years of unemployment, a son diagnosed with autism, and my husband making choices that were beyond my control, I find myself still tremendously comforted by those words, and oddly, they have more meaning to me today, in the middle of a divorce, than they did then.
When I was a kid, my friends and I played a game in the kitchen doorway. One of us would stand between the jambs, and with our arms at our sides, we would press the backs of our hands outward with all of our might for one solid minute. Your muscles would begin to quiver, your arms shake, and your face would screw up in concentration as that minute dragged on. Then, when you couldn’t take it any more, you would step from the doorway, relax your muscles, and with no effort whatsoever your arms would fly up from your sides into the sky.
I remember laughing for joy at how something so difficult became so effortless and buoyant.
Those post-closing words I’ve contemplated, rubbed on like a smooth worry-stone, for months now, and it’s funny how they don’t mean what I thought they might mean- but how true they are nonetheless. We think we are such fragile creatures- we want answers, hoping to see the end from the beginning. And yet despite our perceived fragility, we are resilient, flexible, and strong like the sap-filled boughs of spring.