It's been a year since my first blog entry. I read back and can't help but think how witty I was back then, how self-assured. I thought I was on top of the world.
Don Henley once told me, "You can't go back, you can never go back." He was right. So rather than mourn the loss of the person I used to be, I'm going to take the time to celebrate the love and laughter and God revelation I have divulged here.
I sincerely hope the pendulum starts swinging back towards happiness; this dull gray is almost more than I can take. But I guess that's what this is here for. It's a photograph out of time that takes me back to where I was and reminisces on the natural ebb and flow of of the joys and sorrows I experience. It's encouraging to read back and see the pain or heartache and to know that I survived. All I need to do is push through one more day, make it through one more night, and I will be one step closer to pulling through.
There is something almost mystical about green grass growing infinitesimally deeper and cooler as twilight approaches. A person could get lost in that feeling, lost in the sense that they are suddenly who they truly are: who they have ever been, ever will be, and could ever hope to be.
You can never forget how to swing. The moment your hands grasp the cold and begin the rattling of chains, years are diminished to mere moments and not a second has passed since the first time you learned to defy gravity. My cousin turned seven today, and we went on her swing set for a little while. As I rose higher and higher, bringing the moon into full view with each pull of my arms and stretch of my toes, I was suddenly aware of the huge smile on my face. Delighted, thrilled, and full of the sweetest joy.
Who am I really? Am I the woman who puts on her face every day and is dependable, courteous and strong, or am I the one deep in behind the face who secretly wishes that life allowed re-dos so that she can blow it all off? Am I the stickler for rules and order and "right," or am I the girl who leaves a seven-year-old's birthday party early to go on her own swing set, watching for each approaching second that signals the coming night? The girl who does cartwheels for the love of them, not because she has ever successfully completed one? The girl who lays in the damp grass with her feet above her head doing the bicycle, Jack Johnson singing sweet, revolutionary nothings in her ears, all the while marvelling in the static-spangled periwinkle sky?
The dark came as swiftly as it ever does, and with it the knowledge that life is not about blogging each new experience. It is all in the moment. That second in eternity that is utterly meaningless in the grand scheme of things, but is a living testimony to my Father who knew this second of my being from the instant of creation. I am completely in awe.
