this week's soundtrack.
if cora had her way she would spend her life covered in bandaids. an injury is not required for a bandaid request, mind you. to cora, bandaids are not only a means to cover a cut or a bug bite, but also a distraction from whatever was causing her tears in the first place, as well as a fashion statement. and once a bandaid goes on, heaven forbid we should suggest she take it off at bath time or, even worse, it should fall off on its own.
unfortunately for cora, because she prefers to wear bandaids recreationally and goes through boxes of them so quickly, her frugal (okay, we are just plain cheap on this one) parents often opt for lower priced bandages which means a decrease in quality as well. often cora can hang on to a bandaid long enough for a rash to develop from the adhesive, not to mention the sticky residue that only comes off with heavy scrubbing. this is especially ironic when she has been wearing the bandaid for no real medical purpose. then she ends up with a rash in a place where there was really nothing wrong to begin with.
we've been home for three weeks. I can't help but think about cora and her bandaids as I putter around my life. life at home has all these tinges of familiarity, but so much is so very different. I'm not working now, but I was when we left. a dear friend has moved just far enough to really be "away." I am homeschooling our kids, but most days I am really not even sure what that means. so I find myself applying bandaids willy-nilly, trying to feel better, to feel healed, to feel something. some of my bandaid choices are good ones, like bikram yoga. I have no idea what I'm doing with my life so I drive down the mountain to the yoga studio and spend an hour and a half staring ay my half-naked self in the mirror while I sweat it all out. if I can do yoga in 105-degree heat I can do the rest of my life, I tell myself. and I could write for days about all I am learning in that hot room. it is my prayer time, my alone time, my workout, and my community all rolled into one. it is a pretty good bandaid. sure beats feeling sorry for myself, another one of my bandaids. or excuse making. or sarcasm. all bandaids I use to tell myself that I deserve to feel crummy for a while and that I might as well wallow in it and let other people know how rotten I feel, too. and reading, how did reading become just another bandaid for me? the more I read the more I know I should just be writing it all down myself, that reading has become an excuse for not writing, an escape into someone else's story instead of capturing my own. and I am working extra hard to avoid the bandaid of busy-ness, being busy out of habit or to avoid dealing with anything meaningful. that is the hardest one of all for me because I want to be in constant motion, even though I know I am being called to something very different right now.
but, just like cora, eventually I have to figure out what my bandaids (even the good ones) are covering up and how the healing process is really going. so I go into the garden and dig up potatoes eric planted for us last spring. I take the long way home so we can pass connestee falls and walk out on the overlook, just because it's on the way. I go to church even though it sometimes makes me feel even lonelier, so I can walk up front and have someone look me in the eye to remind me "this is his body, broken for you." we bake things, the kids and I, and use up more glue sticks than I ever thought possible because creating is part of healing, part of living, even when it makes big messes. these are the balms and salves that seem to serve me best. I don't even know what it is I am healing from, why I need all these bandaids in the first place, but not knowing seems to be part of the journey right now.
I want life to be big and loud and vibrant all the time, but this season seems to be focused on the quiet and still and gentle parts. the trick is learning how to tell the difference between still and boring, how to savor the quiet without needing to fill it. and I know to get the benefits from this gentler season of life I am going to have to learn to be gentle with myself, even if it means ripping off a few bandaids first.
I feel you, I feel you, on each and every note. i know it feels like a blip, another small something you "should be grateful for and kind of are but why don't you do it all the time," but this little bit of your writing really just hit home for me. so, you are a writer, connecting with people and getting at the heart of the human condition, in small ways every day! you will flourish again :)
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