I just can’t get enough of Samantha.
Here’s a little reason why:
“Still, it’s nice to know I’m on the right track. And I’m grateful that finally I can encounter the ancient sadness without wanting to lie in a corner and bleed to death. In fact, I’m at the point where, when it comes I think: This is sad. I wish it hadn’t happened. I wish I could change things–but–I’m still here, and I’m happy. I haven’t stopped loving life or people or me. So I think I’ll just take a moment and cry a little bit, and then if friend is online or nearby I’ll talk to them for a little while because that helps me remember I’m loved. And if no one’s around, maybe I’ll take a walk or sing or dance or turn a cartwheel–because I can. I’m not destroyed, I’m very much alive, and this feeling won’t last forever.”
I left a comment that my situation and pain are nothing like hers, and would never hope to equate them. However, pain and sadness, no matter the circumstances surrounding them are both emotions that share common characteristics. Dealing with and working through them is pretty much a universal path. Find joy. Find love. And then cling to them.
“I’m not destroyed. I’m very much alive.”
Last Friday, Husband and I attended a yoga workshop at a small studio in town. It was a full class-10 people in attendance. Small. Delightful. Inspiring. I may have written about my “yoga on a houseboat” experience on Labor Day 2009, this was with the same instructor. I haven’t seen this instructor since 2009, and I selfishly wondered if there was any noticeable difference in me from that time. I was barely making it then, clinging to each breath, constantly choking back tears that were evoked by the ever present reminders that my life was not at all what I wished it to be. I am not that person any more, but I remember her, and her emotions tap lightly on the window of my present.
“There is still sadness but it’s not new. Periodically I feel it pushing at my soul, reminding me that there have been inexcusable abuses–but it’s old. Oddly, I can feel that these are not emotions from the present. They reek of loneliness only a small child can feel, or intense, consuming anger conjured by a teen, or confusion and loss felt by a terrified, aching adolescent. I was sad. I’m not sad now.”
I’m not sad now. Many times during the day I have to remind myself of that fact. And it is fact: I am not sad. Sadness became a habit, a trusted companion. Sadness would wrap its arms around me when no person was there to comfort. Its warmth is ever present, still beckoning with its dark softness. It is difficult to resist, but I must resist it if I want to be who I am. I like *that* person- the one who wears her *muchness* without a glance in any direction but forward.
Samantha has her Wonder Woman Boots, which she claims are invisible. I’m working on my footwear, but believe me when I tell you that when I find them, they most certainly will not be invisible.