Shit got real around here yesterday when I almost got rid of my last Mike & Chris hoodie. It was in the go pile when a pang of conscience hit and I slipped my arms through the sleeves for one last time. There I stood in front of the mirror: ripped up jeans, tank top and the hoodie. All of the sudden I felt like my younger, more capable self. I kept the hoodie.
It’s funny how old things can stir up so much emotion.
Like a couple weeks ago when I was in the garage looking for the 10 year old original receipt for the sofa. Did you know manufacturers expect you to hang onto that stuff? Me either, but I guess it’s a thing. Now of course I don’t have that piece of paper, but thought I might have an old bank statement showing a slipcover purchase from 2008 (proof of ownership!). Holy hell and a half, next thing you know I’m lying on my back on the dirty garage floor, plethora of old bank statements in hand, spilling out all my questions to the universe:
- Why did I have to have a stroke?
- Why couldn’t I just be left alone to continue on my safe path of self-sufficiency?
- What’s going to happen to me?
- What HAS happened to me?
- Remember how successful I used to be? How peaceful? How much fun??
- Did you know the cable bill is due?
- How am I going to get back on track?
- Where is the track?
- WHAT is the track?
- I miss the old me! (not a question, but something I wailed nonetheless)
Who thinks that a trip into the garage is going to end up being a foray against the mind? Thanks for nothing, sofa man.
These days my prayer life consists of the following —-> HELP. HELP ME.
Based on the lack of response, I’m not sure I’m being heard. I mean, I think I am but maybe the answer is, ‘not yet’. I don’t know.
Ever been there?
Lissa Rankin, M.D. refers to it as ‘the sacred space’; the time/space between where one thing ends and a new thing begins. A place for grieving, contemplation, rest and being open to possibility. Now let it be said, Lissa Rankin’s on a whole other level than me on most things, but on this one thing I can totally relate. Except what about when you’re ready and the new thing is not presenting itself? What if you don’t know where to look for it? What about when you’re tossing yourself out there to possibility and possibility is just driving its car around (or maybe over) you like you’re not even there?
That is currently me, lying in the road/garage waiting for my next thing. Only, what if the sacred space never ends and I end up in a cardboard box on the curb? What if I sell all my shit on eBay and there’s not a single thing left except a leather jacket, pair of jeans, stack of white t-shirts and a pair of cut-offs (and the Mike & Chris hoodie). What if I go to get nostalgic about the receipts in the garage and end up having to make a dress out of them?
<Speaking of dresses, how did I ever fit into this thing?>
I guess I’m sucking at the sacred space. It’s been six months of sacred spacing and I’m about sacred spaced out. I’m afraid to say that out loud because what if it prolongs my time here? Then again, the squeaky wheel gets the grease. Go on and grease me, God! I think I’m ready for it…just so long as it doesn’t involve going to an office and wearing a suit.