It smells of dirt outside. Fresh garden dirt. The kind of dirt you don’t mind having under your fingernails as you straighten from a new bed of plants and feel your back begin to ache. But it’s not my dirt, and my back is fine. I can’t think where I’m picking up the scent as only desert dirt surrounds me.
One smell though – and my thoughts go into overdrive. The same with songs. Names. Colors.
I love my imagination. I embrace it. But the last few days I’m had to tamp it down – like the dirt I imagined only moments ago from my porch.
The week began with wonderment and excitement and hope. It declined to heart problems and doctors and needles and tests and tears. And just when I thought the week couldn’t slip any further, it did.
Someone I care deeply about had some unexpected sad news.
When someone I love worries, I worry. When someone I love is happy, I’m happy for them. I’m a very intuitive, sensitive, feeling person. Not to be confused with co-dependent. Because I’m perfectly capable of finding my own happiness. It is not contingent on others.
But I digress, as usual.
I’m finding myself in suspended animation – swiping the screen of my ipad to check for news – messages. My heart, dropping into my stomach when my email advises me that yes, it has updated and no, there is nothing new to show me.
I’ve been feeling selfish too. Selfish because this recent event could mean that all the wonderment and excitement I felt at the beginning of the week could be delayed, or perhaps, never be.
And that is when I have to tamp down my imagination.
You let me sit and think without information and I’ll create either the best or worst scenario my mind can come up with. It’s terrible. Terrible and wonderful at the same time.
I’ve dismissed the worry I had for myself and the hug I shared with my doctor, while tears streamed down my cheeks is a fading memory.
But the love and fear I feel for someone else remains.
I will pray to whatever God will listen to me – and use my imagination to send love and light to the family that needs it.
I have to decide, again, to let go. Give another thing I have no control of over to the universe.
Fairy tales will have to wait, even destiny gets interrupted sometimes.
I’m finding my fears are directly proportional to how much I am capable of loving. The more I grow, spiritually, intellectually, emotionally, the more I fear. And I wonder how that can be?
I know that the opposite of fear is faith – I know that fear is unhealthy. I know this, and yet I am scared.
For me, this is also growth. When for years (other than my son) I didn’t fear losing something, not caring enough to be afraid – this is growth.
Faith I can work on.
The ordinary seems more ordinary to me lately. All the childhood dreams and hopes I had for myself are keeping me up at night. I want the fantastic. The magical. The fairy tale.
For years I did not believe anymore. Like a wide-eyed audience member discovering the secret behind a magicians trick – such disappointment.
The past few years I have been finding my own magic. Slowly. And finding myself open to believing again. Then out of nowhere, as if a reward for opening my eyes, destiny put more in my path.
I think my fear stems from not wanting to suddenly see another trick revealed.
No, I do not want to sit in naivety. But to have wonderment at what life can bring – to be surprised and to feel anything is again possible – I want more than anything.