I
so rarely write at my desk at home because it is so rare that I’m actually
here. But I am, and so is the inspiration to write, so I will.
I
never used to write at this desk because it was so cluttered. Art projects,
magazines, clean laundry—heck, dirty laundry— all of it just sort of piled up.
I didn’t really notice the mess at first, it just kind of happened. Little by
little though, realization dawned, and each time I passed my desk, I tried to
clear a part of it off. I wanted to make a space for myself to work at it. I
wanted to see what my desk really looked like underneath it all.
I
was lucky enough to have someone do for me what I did for that desk. Someone
took the time to clear the clutter off of me to see what I really looked like
underneath it all.
Just
because somebody can’t love you right now, doesn’t mean that they never did, or
that they never will. I feel like sometimes, I get so caught up in thinking
that everyone’s life moves in this linear, predictable fashion, when really,
we’re just multi-colored beads on the tracks of those
rainbow-coated-wire-contraptions in the dentist’s office waiting room. We could
be ships, or trains, or airplanes: we’re all going somewhere, but we’ve all got
our own paths to take. These paths could cross again, or they might not. We’re
all travelers in this life.
 |
| As it turns out, children's toys serve as great metaphors for my life. |
Sometimes, I forget that just because something’s
happened once, doesn’t mean it can’t happen again. Like a book, we can be read
and re-read. Sometimes, it’s by the same person. Sometimes, it’s by someone
entirely new. One thing is for sure: a book read once is no longer new, but new
things can be found in the same pages. Love’s a threading theme run rampant,
but there’s so many ways to spin it out.
In the words of the wise
New Englander, Robert Frost: “In three words I
can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.”
