There's something ready to be carved, out there, but I'm not sure I have the time to find it. I've got a list a mile long, checkmarks to delegate, and pride to honor. I keep three calendars; four if you count the one I forget to write in. The desk I'm at is not the desk I'd like to be at, but inspiration doesn't wait for proper placement. So much of life tempts itself toward quarantine: do that later, do that when. But now, internal suspicion calls me out from task and superstition, and I find myself writing.
|the incomparable Rachel Baran|
I surprised myself this week. I got angry. Polite girls don't have emotion, and somehow life taught me to respect my manners before myself. Lately it's been harder though, to keep calm. My pulse has actually been wavering. The thing that set me off this time was little (as limit breakers often are). Nonetheless, I watched my feelings spin across the room to demand attention and apology. Was I right to be upset? Probably. Was I appropriate in my response? I'm not experienced enough to be sure. It took me until adulthood to stand up for myself; it's still new art. But these words stung, so I threw up my defenses. Besides, there are bigger Monsters at play that I can not speak to, so this little example became its own version of pressure release.
The truth is, I don't know how to get angry and feel okay about it. My brain swells and my words get fumbly. My adrenaline runs to the mountaintops with my guilt and self-consciousness in tow. I usually retreat at the end, embarassed. In my head, I'm a living comparison, even when I'm not.
Thankfully, Love doesn't leave me at the start of every lesson. Love won't even leave when I feel angry. I rely on this. I heard an analogy this week involving trees: Oak vs Willow. Oak trees are strong and unmoving, but when the wind comes it returns in strength and breaks the tree. The willow, though, bends with wind. So there is a dance, instead, and once the sky has settled, the willow stands intact. When I think of how often I storm against the limits of my humanity, how often I lose patience with being taught, and when I think about the grace I lack, it is then I realize: Love must be a willow tree. Because as broken as I am, I have not broken Love. And even though I continue to rail against it, Love hasn't moved. Love stands with me, even when I can not stand myself.