More than a week had passed since the new year, it’s time to finish up the last prompt for the Reverb 10 Challenge. I thought it had been a good exercise, and grateful for this opportunity to review and ponder. Looking forward to doing it again for 2011!
Day 31: Core story. What central story is at the core of you, and how do you share it with the world? (Bonus: Consider your reflections from this month. Look through them to discover a thread you may not have noticed until today.)
The truth is, I know I carry a lot of fear and self-doubt in me. That actually makes up a big part of my core. I often feel I am just not good enough and will never achieve, and feel afraid to put myself out there. I feel I am coming to face this and slowly coming out of my shell and beginning to find the courage to try to achieve things, determined to learn from the process and see it as a journey versus regarding the arrival at the destination as a success.
Ferdinand’s death shook my sense of security for this world. In a way it’s good because I live with my eyes wide open these days.
I always felt becoming a mother gave me a second life. I re-considered many things and saw the world with new eyes. For that I am eternally grateful. Through my children I could re-experience what it must have felt like to be a baby, to be held, to be carried around, cuddled, hugged, loved, and sometimes, judged (which I try not to do with my own children). It made me re-evaluate my choices and the way I do things.
Then Ferdinand died, and I had to find a way to face life again, find new feet and walk the earth differently, again. The world did not change, but I did.
Now we have Lyra, but we also lost another pregnancy. I keep having to re-evaluate and re-think and re-set. I guess that is my true core story. I always felt “this is it” and then something comes along and I need to re-think all over again and start anew again. My life is moment by moment, it had always been.
The Thing Is
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again. –– Ellen Bass
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