The truth is everyone is healing from something. All of us have either gone or will go through something tragic in our life. We all go through loss. We all experience fear. We feel, we live, and if we’re lucky, we learn.
Our life is our story.
This is us every day.
We wake up and begin our routine. We walk along this big conveyor belt we call “The World” and weave through different patterns and meet new people. We separate from the pack and create our own lives. We walk along paths that twist and turn, overlap, and interconnect or run parallel.
There is an internal force within us all. This is our true selves. This is the place where desire comes from. This is where we define our dreams. Essentially, this is our source. This is our light. This is our being, and most preciously; this is our spirit.
We all have this. Everyone has a spirit—even the spiritless; only theirs is just buried deeper beneath tragedies or instances that happen in life.
There is a word we use. The word is recovery. This word does not belong to anyone specific or particularly.
No, the term recovery belongs to everyone because everyone is recovering from something.
Every one of us has had something happen. Life does not discriminate—even if we do, life does not. Life happens, all day every day, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year.
We may or may not see, think, feel, or go through the same things, which is what makes us unique. But still, we all go through life. because so long as we live and breathe; life is an unavoidable thing.
My Mother used to say, “Into each life, a little rain must fall.”
My Grandmother used to say, “No one ever promised you a rose garden.”
It is hard though.
There are never enough hours in the day. Time moves in different ways. It moves too fast when you wish it would stop, —and then it drags when you wish you could just move on. Time is relative. Speed is relative too. So is life, especially when it goes unlived.
In the heart of my worst times and in the depths of my downfall; there was something within me that carried me through and helped me to regain my posture.
Although i thought this was gone, or absent, something within me; something deep down kept me alive when I felt as though I was dead or dying alive.
When all else failed and I found myself feeling beaten or hurt and unsure of myself; when I swore there would never be a way for me to get where I wanted to be; I swore this would be the end, I swore I would never feel better, I would never heal, I thought my world was going to come to an end, yet somehow, the world still moved.
When The Old Man died, Mom told me the next day how she stood outside. She watched the cars drive by our house. She noticed the traffic lights still worked. The television turned on and off. Nothing stopped.
Mom said, “I just lost the love of my life and nothing stopped.”
She believed this was the cruelest thing ever.
“Not even a pause,” she said.
When Mom passed, I thought the same thing. The nurse that stayed with Mom and helped her stay comfortable was kind. But after Mom passed, the nurse just went on to the next patient.
But Mom died.
How did the nurse just go on to the next?
How does the world just keep on turning the way it does?
Well, in all honesty, the world turns at the speed of 1,000mph at the equator. That’s pretty fast, if you think about it.
This means the world moves faster than the speed of sound. Maybe this is why heartbreak seems to hit faster than the news that breaks it.
No matter how pleasant or tragic; a minute is still a minute, an hour is still an hour, and the world still spins at the same unchangeable speed.
It would be inaccurate to assume the depth of your pain or mine is any different or similar. Truth is we are all uniquely similar.
It would be inaccurate to assume or judge the world lived or seen through someone else’s eyes. We all go through pain. I know what my pain is. I have mine and you have yours.
We all live and sometimes we die a little. We experience death of friendships. We see hopes crash. We experience loss and in our tragedies, whether simple or complex, we look around to see the world still spins, just like Mom said, and it seems cruel.
But this is the trick.
The fact that the world still spins means we have another chance. The fact that the Earth still turns means we will have another day. We have an opportunity to redeem ourselves—even if for only one day, so long as the world spins, so long as we breathe, we have a chance to make a move, to create, or rebuild. The choice is ours.
I am more than a year away from a piece of my life I wished I could have changed. The details are personal and will be left unsaid; however, at this time last year; I swore, I was finished. Emotionally (or foolishly) I believed was through. I made an error in judgement. I placed my attention in a poor direction. I allowed my lack of faith to diminish the light inside of me. I was done. My intentions at this time was poorly judged. However, this is when I learned that intentions have nothing to do with interpretation. Outside of my life, I have no control of the world beyond my reach. And I learned this. I learned this lesson painfully, yet gratefully, because at least I learned this.
There are times when tragedy strikes. It feels like we might die. but we won’t die. We might say we want to. We might think we will but the only thing that can kill us is death itself.
I go back to
that word again
What does this world mean?
To recover: to regain composure, to regain one’s self, to feel better, to overcome, to fall but get up, to love and to lose and yet, regain the ability to love even still. To regain a former or better condition, to recapture a smile that was otherwise lost or a return to a dream that was otherwise differed.
To recover: to stand when we believed we could never regain a semblance of self; to remain when we once believed we were otherwise destroyed—to continue even when we never believed we could.
To reconnect to that thing within us. To reacquaint us with our source, our light, and to reintroduce us to this thing we call our spirit.
I have found that in order for me to recover from anything; I would have to define my recovery as everything on my list up above. And therefore, not anything, including the wreckage of my past, or outside opinions, or the humbling moments when character defects created an irredeemable aftermath, could take me away this thing I have. I call this my source. This is my light. This is my spirit. I call this me.
This morning, I woke up at dawn. There was no sun in the sky. Instead, the clouds were thick and gray. The mist and slow drizzle gave a silvery tint to the smoke-like clouds that drifted passed me on my side of the mountain. I watched the clouds move along. I watched the sun eventually show itself. I felt myself heal because I allowed myself the ability to replace thought with action.
Tomorrow is Mom’s birthday.
Think I’ll write her a letter. Think I’ll tell her what I’ve been doing over the last few days on this conveyor belt I call, “My world.”
We are all recovering from something. But if I am to recover then I am to recover. But first, I have to define what this word means.
I know what it means to me . . .