It feels like forever and it feels like it happened yesterday, all at the same time.
The most obvious shift in the last six months is the speed that I make noticeable strides with unpacking the mental crates and cartons that contain my life, along with a palpable hunger to do the same with the physical crates and cartons that hold my tangible possessions. Through circumstances I still don't understand, I had to move everything out of storage, find somewhere else to put my boxes on very short notice, and execute all of that right after the last reflective update.
It was, to put it mildly, stressful. But one huge benefit was being able to put my hands on every single box, check the contents (minimal damage to one, somewhat more to a second), and do an infinitely better job in arranging them at the new venue to be able to find parts of my life again.
Actually, I'm not sure if I was able to find my life, or my life wanted -- or needed -- to find me: I have a growing suspicion (in a good way) that it's the latter.
Not long after that, I had a moment that totally flummoxed me: I made a joke about death. A good friend going through issues in her marriage made the comment that she almost shot her husband for his transgression. I replied "if D. had done that, he would have been in a lot more pain than he got in the end."
After my friend picked her jaw up off the floor, she laughed nervously, and when it dawned on me what I had said, I just let loose a big guffaw. Not sure where it came from, but it's been part of a growing series of incidents that make me come to a screeching halt and go "where the heck did that come from?" They are, in almost equal parts, very scary and extremely, well, liberating.
If the first year of being alone was the year I said no to almost everything (which wasn't good), and the second year was the year I said yes to almost everything (ditto), the third year is the one where I finally regained some sanity and perspective in how I want to live the rest of my life.
I've (re)learned to trust my gut, and to feel good with the choices I make: that's not something I could have said a year ago.
That I can say that with peace in my heart tells me I'm on the right track, and it feels as good as the fibre in my hands that I've been spinning recently. There will always be a great void in my soul, and days when tears will pour down my face in a vain attempt to fill it, but I can sigh, breathe deeply, shrug my shoulders, and, as I said to someone yesterday, "be as OK as possible under the circumstances."
Much of that is what I'm excited about creating, and this is perhaps the most liberating of all thoughts.
Sunday, 2 March 2014
The shop is currently empty.