There is a photo among the old black and whites that my mother has. It’s of me as a small child at the beach.
I am very young, probably about 2, and I’m lying in the sand holding my little straw hat and crying my eyes out.
While grownups are not encouraged to throw themselves down on the sand and pitch a fit of despair, I sure can relate to just how that little kid feels. I’ve had a bit of a rough go lately.
I feel like I’m being tested and its all personal. Within the last seven months my dad died — and that of course was awful but I thought I handled it OK. I survived. My dog died suddenly at Christmas. He was my loyal, adoring companion and his death was painful and horrible. But I was able to survive that. Just recently my husband had serious back surgery. He and I spent some time immersed in worry about catastrophic loss of health and/or life. The surgery went well. We survived it.
Typically, I’m a pretty even keel type human. An optimist by nature. When the great big roller coaster of life is going high and low, I can hang on pretty well and stay close to my peaceful center. It’s one of my favorite things about me.
But, the relentlessness of the challenges are starting to wear on me. And I find that surprising.
I’m tired. Achy. Cranky. And just a teensy bit humorless. I’m feeling like one more thing happens to me and I’m over the edge. To make matters worse I’m having some seriously bad hair days.
As such, I’m doubling up on my efforts. I’m trying to spend a little more time seeking a place of peace and acceptance, meditating when I can. That’s always supposed to help, although it hasn’t lately.
I should be exercising but since my dog died, taking walks without him just makes me sad.
And I’m trying to eat right. I’m usually great at that. But, just a few moments ago, looking to do battle against some sleepless nights, I went out and got myself one of those frothy iced coffee drinks for an infusion of sugar and caffeine. And whipped cream.
This is a strange place for me to be in because of all the things in life I’m most interested in learning more about, this is the area that fascinates me most. Almost all the books I read these days address the question of surviving well. What kind of traits do we need to rise up? How do the best of us deal with the worst that an unfair world dishes out?
But, here I am. Emotionally knocked into the sand like that little two-year-old clutching her straw hat.
I only know one thing to do. Get up. Brush myself off, put on my little hat and keep moving.
Contact Michele DeLuca at 282-2311, ext. 2263.
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