How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?
(Author: Jeffrey Davis)
I went home.
Not as in “walked into my apartment”, but as in “flew across the country with my tail between my legs and cried to my mom and dad”.
I’m 31 years old and, for as long as I’ve been inhabiting me, I’ve had terrible bouts of what my friend Melissa aptly refers to as The Sad. It comes in waves and varying degrees (ranging from: A Little Blue to: A Gaping Black Void of Complete and Utter Hopelessness) and taints my world and relationships until I’m able to recognize it and claw my way out. 2010 came pretty close to that thundering abyss:
A dreaded move, a just-this-side-of-failing marriage, an overwhelming and desolate loneliness….all sped me right to a cliff of uncharacteristic and selfish decisions. I jumped right off in my scramble away from that Sad, blindly leaving a trail of hurt; trampling over the bodies of people I loved, respected and needed.
So, with a too-brief detour to the beach in between, I flew my raggedy ass 3000 miles from Pasco, WA to my parents’ doorstep in Clifton Park, NY. It was time to have the shit slapped out of (and sense back into) me by my mother, and to be rebuilt by my father. For a month and a half I cowered and cried and hugged my knees in the only place in the world I know to have a My Life Reset Button. I layed (laid? shit.) down on my lumpy, old-as-shit mattress in my barely recognizable old room (trying to believe that mom had a right to redecorate….), and I reabsorbed ME.
I had the same old arguments with my mother, gave my diabetic father the same shit when I found his candy stash, visited all the old places where my ghost still walked and I covered myself in it all. I found that I could go home, that it had become the only place unassailable by the chaos I had been creating. With my eyes squinched shut, the tears leaking out, my head down and my arms crossed tightly at my chest, I let my family, my home, hold me tightly until I was ready for the world again.
I didn’t cultivate wonder there, (I’d lost that ability somewhere in 2010), my family did. They extended a hand to me as I was laying on the gravel, put mercurochrome on my skinned knees, held me until I stopped crying and shoved me back out to the world to give it another go. I flew back sore and scarred, but ready again to move forward again and begin my reparations.