It was a sinking feeling on Friday, that moment when the overwhelm begins to feel like it just might flow over the edge. I pushed it down, but not far enough, and it hung around all weekend. Woke up to Monday with a client that fell over his own edge, apparently, and a huge pool of inaccuracy that leaves me and the guy I work with unpaid for our time and effort and good will. Mixed that in with my Mom and Dad losing their beloved dog, Summer, today to kidney failure. Stirred it up with some stresses that I can’t share here and topped it off with a long day and nothing to cook for dinner. As the sun set tonight, the overwhelm flowed over the edge.
I found myself on Facebook. It was better than eating another cookie, and I soon felt the pull toward what was really going on inside. To stop for a moment and feel — sometimes looking at what other people are “feeling” or griping about or commenting on is just the reminder I need to stop and be quiet. And look around me.
Brooke’s been holed up in my office for days. On the performing team at her dance company, she’s preparing for a showcase where the dancers have the opportunity to choreograph and perform their own dances, as well as teach others these dances. Of course, I’ve been so anxious to see her dance, but she’s kept the office door closed, a blanket pulled over the glass panes that allow you to see in. Tonight she emerged with CD in hand, ready to show me. Here before me is this girl I love. The girl I always wanted and have known all my life — first as a dream inside me and now as a beautiful, young woman dancing before me on the living room rug. The song began and she came alive in a way I have never seen her before. This was HER dance — her passion put to movement. It flowed from her heart and it was a lovely thing.
I’m an optimist. I see the good in peo
ple, sometimes to my own fault, some would say. I also see the hurt around me and within me and I grieve. The dog we love that ages and dies or dies too young. The people we love that age and die, or die too soon. The man grappling with his own humanity, his purpose and his sexuality in a world that is quick to throw judgement and answers when he’s asking for neither. The friend who doesn’t know how much more she can take. The steps we took that led to consequences we have to live with. The broken family relationships. And so much more.
It’s heavy. It’s always there when I look around, but I don’t always feel it like I do today. I know that when we choose to connect, when we give freely and work hard and try our best we will still come up short on being understood, or appreciated or loved back. And we will come up short on appreciating, or understanding or loving back like we should, too.
But I’m going to keep trying. I’m going to keep attempting to put my self out there. My real and messy self that wants to be brave enough to take off my mask and dance around the living room. I’m going to remind myself that it’s GRACE and LOVE that I want to be about. That’s it’s freedom I’m seeking. That’s it’s forgiveness I am learning to extend. That I can fall and I can get back up. That there are many around me who treasure me and that everyone doesn’t like me, or “get” me — and that’s ok. That underneath each pain is beauty. Hidden there in the ruins is love for someone, or a refusal to let fear stop you, or a painful lesson learned that you would not return, or a reminder that you hurt, but it’s because you got to love that it hurts in the first place.
So, she dances. In her innocence. The self doubt peeks through the cracks. The self consciousness is hiding around the corner. But she chooses to dance. She chooses to believe there is something beautiful there to show someone else. How precious that not enough has piled up on her to keep her from dancing. And as I watch her, she is turning the tables on my day.
