owning my high-water jeans
Last summer I quit my job, it was boring anyway. And, I spent time digging in the dirt. I spent time being slow. I spent time being quiet and walking my dogs.
The last few years have been this calm kind of chaos. I haven't felt incredibly stressed but things had still felt uncertain. And life's river kept floating me along, meandering all over the landscapes. I've been able to visit a lot of places.
Finally, I'm landing. Throwing down the anchor for a bit and as my feet hit the river bank I'm off--not really running--but some kind of nerdy excited speed walk!
Like I said, I'd been meandering and last I left y'all I was recovering from betrayal and consuming fire and some weird paralyzed leg syndrome and an epic 12-step dump. I surrendered, gave way, broke my own heart and said lots of tearful sorries.
Do you ever hear that voice? The one convincing you that you'll always be a little too dirty and a little too heavy and your jeans will always be the unintentional, unfashionable kind of high-waters. I didn't realize how deeply ensnared in my guts that voice was until I forced it out with all those 12-step readings and meetings and the looking inside and writing of lists and loving of people even though we're all insane! And that's when the destruction of my fire somehow transformed into water. And this is how I began to meander and surrender.
A year later I stood in front of another body of water. Mr. Scabs invited our friends and I and even our little girl's 5th grade teacher to surround him as he was re-baptized (see excommunication and pity sex--seriously I can't believe I'm posting a link to this embarrassing write-up). I suppose this was his way of showing us that he wanted to have a different life. I'm actually not sure what it all meant for him but for me it ranks up there in the top 5 most stunning moments of my life.
Watching him fall under the water and die, as they say, only to be lifted out and born anew reminded me of my own rebirth. How I had broken my own heart and said lots of tearful sorries and how that broken heart had given me a new lens; Mr. Scab's seemingly unforgivable, dirty, heavy, unfashionably high-watered past suddenly felt forgivable. More than that, repairable. And so, I meandered.