I look around, sometimes, and realize the surroundings are not correct.
I inventory my thoughts and come to the conclusion whatever happened then is insignificant. Then as in one particular moment and then as in years and years combined. Insignificant in that I cannot, in any way, alter the happenings. Not insignificant in the measurement of it mattering. Everything matters to a degree.
How often am I told I am not significant? Not in the exact wording of a statement. But in the design of life. Or to rephrase….significant in that everyone matters but not so much that anyone is willing to truly alter anything. And that’s where I realize I am irrevocably responsible for me.
So I have the choice to move forward. Or linger. Metaphorically and in the literal sense as well.
I have to, not forgive, but accept. And allow myself to be changed. Evolve. Evolution is such a unique process. People loathe the word. Creation versus evolution, but in reality, aren’t they akin? We change everyday, little by little. At least I do. We create everyday. Don’t we? And I realize, though I at times dislike it greatly, my own personal failures and missed triumphs amount to nothing. No one cares anymore.
People move on rather quickly and that baffles me because anything of substance seems hard to leave behind. Yet they, meaning people, do. I struggle to throw out the insignificant. Much less the tangible pieces of my life. The hardest thing to let go is that someone else can simply let go. Walk away.
Currently days and times run together and I, as much as I hate to admit, allow myself to miss important dates like birthdays and anniversaries. Then upon realizing I have let a day slip by, I feel horrible and try to make amends. Or let it go and hope the person on the other side is not let down. That they’ll be understanding. And they usually are.
Seasons though, seem harder to miss. More difficult to avoid. And I realized, recently, the second half of January is significant in that it marks thirteen years. That’s how long I’ve lived in Kentucky. This go round. The first was three years…for my then husband’s grad school. Then eighteen months, I believe was the total, when my son was very young. This time, it’s been the longest I’ve lived anywhere in my adult life.
When I reflect back, I remember I didn’t want to move here thirteen years ago. Didn’t believe it was the right thing to do. But life comes day by day and I adjusted. Maybe I adjusted.
My children were young then. Eight and five years old. They grew up here. Made friends and played sports and joined the band in middle school. I was concerned they’d suffer due to the move. Not do well. Yet they are fine. I don’t think any worse for wear. College scholarships followed awards and now they’re on their way to somewhere else. My son will graduate college in May. He will head to grad school. The age I was when I first came here.
So very much has happened. Changed. Stayed the same. What matters to me today has changed and yet stayed the same. The roles are different. People have come and gone and changed their frequency. And my thoughts are what I never imagined they’d be. Yet it makes sense.
February will mark six years in my house. Six years since a cross town move. South side to north side, which in Lexington, Kentucky, makes a difference. I remember two people who helped us unpack dishes in our kitchen the day of our move and now, now I have no clue where they are. I can’t even remember if they were married then but now they are. And I have a cd the guy made with a guy who I once worked with. Somewhere. And it seems so odd someone could unpack the details of my life and now I have no idea where they are or what they do.
But that’s how time is. People who once were now are not.
That rings true today. More than ever. Loudly and with a steady beat. And it makes me sad yet I don’t cry. I can’t cry even though once upon a time I would have.
I celebrate I’ve been here, in one place, for so long. Stability is not overrated. And I celebrate that like I stated above, my surroundings are not correct. Are not what binds. There are no guarantees because I simply cannot be faithful to myself without a whole lot of reminders. And to be true, to me, means what’s left here means very little. Accepting that. And not holding on. The future means not holding on. Otherwise it’s the past. And living in the past makes my stomach hurt. So, thanks but no thanks, I’ll move forward.
Stop caring so you can care again.
I wrote that on January fifth. True in so many facets. A funnel. What once was broad. Once wide and incorporating so many is now small. Tiny, allowing only a very few to fit. A few people and a few beliefs. Numbered priorities. Only what makes sense. Create and evolve and create again and one might end up with a small product. The summation of years dwindled down to a pile of what is truly beautiful.
Beauty for ashes.
Burn it all up and start over. Something pretty made out of something which is basically dead.
Free of all which lingers.
Sometimes I write other stuff….besides my regular blog entries. Click below if you’d like to read a piece semi-related to the above blog entry, entitled {01.17}.
Upon a Sunny Day 