Friday, August 5, 2011
A Different Kind of Strong
While breathing room feels nice, there's a certain shade of strength in having no processing time. You just keep going, even though you need to cry, even though you're totally confused, even though you have so many questions. You let it all sink into your soul, into a deep place in your body. And you survive. You become stronger than you ever wanted. And you become more like your new friends than you ever thought possible.
When you finally lose your shit (and you will... we always do), you'll wonder if it's okay that you're sobbing uncontrollably when everyone else appears to be dealing just fine with complete and utter travesty. And then a friend in the midst of loss and love will tell you that you are beautiful for feeling so much and doesn't it feel wonderful to cry? to be so alive? And you will say yes and know that he is right and this is exactly what's needed. Wordlessness. Tears for a thousand and one reasons. Grieving for however long it takes.
You will never solve the "problem" with answers, so you don't look for them in rationale or reason. You let your heart pull you toward your next move and you let your body release how it needs to release. You follow, no matter how tragic or terrifying or tantalizing the path might be. You go all the way with the way it is, because that kind of witnessing is needed more than any solution you could think of.
We're heading to a good friend's house for a few nights of camping on the land under the stars next to the fire, and helping bring a dream of his to life. Looking up, cool grass on my back, I get the feeling that no matter how complicated or sad or only half hopeful things feel, I'm unbelievably blessed to be here, and exactly where I belong.