You were feeling good, but now not so much. What happened? What can you do?
Walking along, the sidewalk is pretty even, then suddenly I step into a hole. At first it’s just up to my knee. My ankle hurts, my hip is twisted, my knee is complaining. Then suddenly the ground rises above me and all I see is some light at the top of the tunnel. How’d I get here. How can I get out. It’s too high up. No one can even see or hear me from down here. I curl up into a ball and cry. “This is it,” my mind tells me, “there’s no going back.” No one can help me. No one even cares. It’s dark and damp and there are disgusting insects. And I’m one of them. A nuisance, a burden, an annoyance. I have no value. I am a hardship.
But wait, what’s this, the small circle of light is expanding. Am I getting closer. I see some sky. It’s such a pretty blue. Is it possible to still appreciate beauty. The hole opening widens and I’m back on the sidewalk with just my feet still in the hole. I’m shaking and shivering and covered in dirt. But I’m back outside the hole. I don’t know how it happened. And I don’t care. All I know is I’m not back in there. I don’t ever want to go there again. But even as I say that, I know that’s not possible. That hole is always waiting for me. It’s open mouth hides around corners, and sometimes right in front of me where I ought to see it, but somehow I don’t. It’s always with me, and the threat of another fall is always in the back of my mind.
But I can’t live like every step is into a hole. I wouldn’t walk anywhere. And in between those falls are trees with green leaves dancing in the wind, and children giggling, and hugs from loved ones, and yummy butternut squash pasta in cream sauce, and music (yes, I have my music back), and HOPE.
There’s hope that the falls into darkness will be fewer and father apart. There’s hope that they won’t always swallow me whole and chew me up. There’s hope that I can still experience joy. And I’m betting on my hope.