Seeing the shore...

The pleasure of last night (Thursday) was being allowed to wallow. I was still in a very dark place but knew it was time to get out amongst the living and try to break up the dark blues, otherwise, I wasn’t sure things were going to end well. I forced myself to go as far as this lovely little café, Solar de Cahuenga, which has the best garlic fries, and thought I’d go that far, then maybe make it the other six blocks to Koji’s and karaoke. But I wasn’t sure I could go those last six blocks.

Well, I forced myself to cover those six blocks, figuring I’d leave early if I needed to. It was a quiet night and started out with me and Monica and this table of “newbies” who are adorable and sing like the dickens. Erin and Ric inquired about my mood and when I informed them that I was struggling, I got hugs and good wishes and was not told to cheer up. I slid into the corner of the table and kind of hid as I had no game face left and wasn’t sure I was fit for human consumption. Monica held her post at the end of the table and I was allowed to be moody. Chairman joined us eventually and he and Monica handled me with exquisite care all night, not interfering with my mood but also subtly trying to make sure I was okay, allowing me to wallow but making sure they were there in case the wallow got too deep. Mark was a doll and plied me with whiskey, to the point I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to make it home. Monica threatened to drive me herself if I had one more sip. I gave Mark the Reader’s Digest version of the last year and he was very sweet and supportive.

By the end of the night, I was finding I could almost smile again. I still wasn’t up for singing but was enjoying those who were. As Monica, Chairman and I went to our cars, I felt the wallow begin to become shallower and was glad I had made myself get out of the house.

There were several things I thought about when I got home last night.

First, I was very touched that my friends allowed me to wallow. They knew I was hurting, they knew I was wounded, but they didn’t try to make me put on the happy face and cover it up. They understood the importance of allowing me to feel wounded and hurt and sad without making me feel guilty about it. They still had a good time, I didn’t destroy anybody’s evening, and they made me feel safe and secure and that it was okay for me not to be the most chipper person in the world, for a change. I never felt obligated last night to apologize for my mood or to try to make them feel better about how I felt. And I never felt more safe and more allowed to feel than I did last night.

I also realized that this blue-ness was different than many of the others I have encountered this year. It feels like I dove off of an island a year ago, swimming towards some unidentified shore, diving in deep, reaching for the elusive sand so far away that all I could see was the horizon. Along the way, I’ve almost drowned a few times. The waters got very, very deep and I couldn’t touch bottom. Those were the scary dark blues as I couldn’t see my way to the sky. But there always seemed to be something that got under my feet just enough to get me to the surface and I could swim on again. I knew the direction I was going in but I didn’t have a map or a compass or anything other than maybe the Northern Star to guide my progress.

Now, this time, I feel like my tiptoes have touched bottom. It’s a sandy bottom and it keeps sliding away as I find and lose my grip on it. But I can now see the shore and see what shape it is. I can’t quite make out the exact lay of the land but at least I can see the palm trees. I’m not drowning but now the real work starts, the work that will carry me to the shore and put my feet firmly down on the earth, leading me into the woods, a whole new place to explore.

But digging in my toes and getting myself to shore is the current challenge. And it’s a different challenge than swimming blindly along. I can now see where I’m going and I can almost figure out how to get there. And in many ways, that’s almost more frustrating because I’m not there. My feet are slipping and sliding around, trying to find where to grip to push me forward and out of the water. It’s frightening to be that close, to look behind me and see all the water I’ve swum through to get here. It’s overwhelming to think about how many times I’ve almost drowned and how there have been many lifeboats out there that wouldn’t let me drown. I’m tired and I’m not sure I’ve got the strength to push that last few miles to get my feet on the shore and rest for a while. But I want to rest for a while and that’s what keeps me going, even while my muscles scream in pain and my lungs cannot hold a breath anymore.

But I will dig in and keep going because there is no other choice. I will not let the sea swallow me and the sharks eat me. I’ve fought too hard to dig in my toes in the sand and I won’t let it go now. And I can see those standing on the shore, holding out their arms to me, trying to guide me to them. I hear them calling on the wind and keep trying to follow their voices when the waves get in between us. Occasionally, they throw out a life preserver and sometimes, I can almost reach it. I get enough of it to keep me afloat a while longer before I lose my grip on it. But they always throw it back again.

They are the ones who sent the mysterious things to get under my feet and keep me from hitting bottom. They are the ones who quietly sent out the lifeboats when I was in serious trouble and kept me from swallowing too much water. They are the ones whose voices have guided me over the crash of the waves and who have swum before and alongside me in the dark. They are my friends and my family and I can’t wait to join them.

Okay, so this got a little more warm and fuzzy and kind of icky than I had planned. But you get the picture. I am glad for my friends and family and I’m glad I’ve made the journey. And I can’t wait to see where the next journey will take us all.