My definition of friend has changed, as has how I define commitment, achievement, passion…depression. It could be that Cinnamon, the nurse practitioner was right when she told me that I didn’t “look depressed” five years ago. Curious if she would change her opinion today? Of course, does it matter when the greater challenge is taking someone named “Cinnamon” seriously?
I am five months into the greatest defining moment of my life today and yet it’s that solar flare highlighting my stagnated home projects that controls my thoughts. To be honest, those thoughts also compete with a failed political system, rising gas prices, the search for employment and neglectful parents. I go to work each day thankful for the consistent schedule yet yearning for the impassioned mind of being home and being free.
A friend spoke just today of this wrestling jive. The “rebuild to fall” of everyday situations we plan and ponder, create, step back, admire and then *crash*. The Jenga brick supporting most of the weight gets pulled too quickly and the tower falls down. In that respect, we are somewhat of a thick-headed …no, persevering population huffing and puffing in our tumbled messes and then reorganizing until we have another base on which to build. Brick by brick the plan is reconstructed with adjustments made where we guess our weak points were the first time. The supports of strength come through on our rebuilding with the relationships we cultivate; prioritizing those closest to us first and fashioning our thoughts of hope and faith with functionality and some linear logic – at least enough to get those mental blueprints stamped approved. As it was, I am a particularly mutable substance transformed with all things musing and dissolving into a useful element of empathy. How depleting this can be. I am committed however. So my choice is really not a choice, but an assured response to do what is right, necessary and expected of that mutability.
Rebuilding ...
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