Incremental Illness

It’s easy to ignore when it creeps up on you,
increasing slowly, by small degrees

Or not even ignore –
just not even notice

the paranoia that maybe you’re not cool enough to hang
the resentment for the life you do not have
the loneliness
the inability to relax
the overwhelm over everyday things:
shopping, showering, getting out the door

Just not feeling
talking, going, doing –
                              it

Until one day it’s suddenly all you can see,
all you can feel

And you have to deal with it all at once

No Time like the Present for an Epiphany

I’m sitting here reading about New Years’ resolutions in August.  No time like the present, right?

Seeing as how most New Years’ resolutions don’t make it out of January, maybe it’s not so bad that I’m considering fresh starts now, but the irony does not escape me.  

I’ve always loved the word ‘epiphany’.  My friends and family used to poke fun at my exuberant use of it and my claims that I’d just had one.  But they came fewer and farther between as I got older.  When I fought and focused for one or was unexpectedly blessed with one, I remembered the joy and wonder and how much I benefitted from their presence in my life.  Yet life always seemed to ramp up again and they fell away – or at least my vision did.

Now as I read about all the meanings of the word – including the feast celebrating the arrival of the Magi twelve days after Christmas – I’m reminded again of how worthy a quest this is.  

In her article discussing epiphany, Effie Caldarola has this advice for fresh starts:

How about just resolving to keep our eyes open for the next epiphany God sends?  Do you think those storied Magi were expecting to find a poor baby at the end of their journey?  What an epiphany for them, the meaning of which they probably spent the rest of their lives trying to figure out.  Don’t ‘expect,’ just pay attention.

How simply profound.  And it means I have the rest of my life to keep looking.

Breaking the Surface

If I had told my five-years-ago self that one day I’d be able to sit in a chair at the beach and watch my three children frolic in the water, that self would’ve told me to go jump in that lake.

Even yesterday as I watched just a scene unfold, I couldn’t quite believe it.

Such an occurrence has been hard-fought and won.

And it’s really nothing for which I can take credit.  Those little fish just grew of their own accord; tested their little fins and swam.

I somehow managed to keep all our heads above water in the meantime, but suddenly, I find myself with five minutes of peace on the beach.

It is an entirely foreign feeling.

A still, a calm, a quiet I never dreamt I’d get.

In the melee of raising three little ones, I never thought I’d have time to catch my breath, to rest a moment, to sit back and observe.

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Jennifer Butler Basile

It’s one of those moments where time suddenly seems to stop and a truth of life is filed.

There are certain things I’ve overcome; certain markers I’ve hit; bits of joy to digest.

They’re hard to recognize when being pulled along with the current, but there are blessed moments of buoyancy.

One day we’ll all be able to bob to the surface.

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