The Unbrokenness of You
Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional. — Haruki Murakami
When was the last time you cleaned your apartment? I mean, really cleaned it. I’m talking about dumping the junk drawer on the floor. Scrubbing the grout off the bathroom tile. Moving the fridge and sweeping/mopping whatever creature began living underneath.
I’m talking about making a mess.
If you’re like me, the biggest hurdle to any project is its beginning. Looking down at the chaos is intimidating enough to convince me that what needs to be sorted simply isn’t worth the time.
Often our lives are filled to the brim with all the junk we didn’t sort and process as it interrupted our lives. So we sweep it under the rug until there’s so much dirt piled underneath we can no longer ignore it seeping out the sides or even directly through the fabric of what we think is keeping our lives in order.
For 2020 the word “chaos” resonates very strongly. There’s chaos in our government, chaos in the streets, and certainly chaos within our homes.
United does not mean that we are the same. It means we decide to stay together even when we harshly disagree.
Let’s look at the chaos we are witnessing from our government in this moment. We live under the pretense that we are united and yet we allow bad apples to infiltrate our lives, making decisions that only divide us from the people we love. United does not mean that we are the same. It means we decide to stay together even when we harshly disagree.
So why are we all suddenly convinced that this chaos proves we as humans are broken? Systems can be broken. Wine glasses can be broken. Promises can be broken. The human spirit cannot be broken.
You are not broken. You are looking at the mess before you that desperately needs organizing and assigning its disfunction to your worth. You are not the disfunction, but its curator.
The question is: how do we sort through it all? Simple, grab the broom and get to sweeping. Take the time to search for the relationships that still nourish your soul and give it a place on the mantle. Collect the dust of extra baggage and toss it — it’s never worth the space it takes up.
And the the broken shards you will find? Take care with them. If you treasure it, find what it needs to be resurrected. If you don’t, Marie Kondo it, sing “Thanks for the memories,” and put in with the dust and dirt. Just be sure not to cut yourself on the pieces. Nothing is so necessary in your life that you should allow yourself to be harmed again and again just in the name of “I need to fix this.”
You are the mender. You are the healer.
