A door closes. A door opens.
"You know, life shouldn't be so hard. I know there's an answer, if only I can see it. Why can't I see it?"
I was reading a fab collection of reflections on life and spirituality by Anne Lamott when I came across a little something written by Kathleen Norris, "Prayer is not asking for what you think you want, but asking to be changed in ways you can't imagine."
I can't help thinking back to the day I lost my ipod, otherwise known as The Day My Heart Fell Out of My Body and My World Changed Forever.
Slight exaggeration, but you know. It's strange to have become so reliant on such a small piece of technology. I used it to exercise, escaping into a fun dance-y Glee-like world where my Big Problems didn't exist. (Of course, they were waiting for me when I was done but never mind.) I used it to fall asleep at night, disappearing into familiar audio books, and walking to work in the mornings (and back in the evenings). Any opportunity to escape, I took it. My ipod was my friend and enabler.
Then, it was gone. Poof.
Without it, I started swimming, discovering a beautiful dance between myself and the water, loving the grace of each stroke. I still marvel that feeling of pulling myself across the water. I think how wonderful it feels to move so effortlessly, how elongated and strong my body feels. In fact, I marvel at being so "in" my body. I would never have discovered this without the loss of my old buddy. Escaping into a fantasy world is enticing. Was enticing.
So. No, I haven't answered my own question, but I have found grace in an unexpected place because of an unexpected loss.
Fare thee well, old buddy. And thanks.