There is this great interview with Neil Degrasse Tyson where he is asked what in all his years of studying the cosmos does he believe to be the most astounding fact. I have heard this clip easily 100 times in my life- coming back to it at different times for inspiration. If you haven't heard it- you should google it right now. If you have heard it, you should google it right now. While driving home from my weekend trip in DC, it came up on one of my podcasts and the words hit me in a way they hadn't in a long time. Maybe it was the euphoria of having had a wonderful weekend- maybe it was a blessing from the universe- but as I sat with the message that the most astounding fact about the universe isn't just that we are a part of it but that it is a part of us in every way, I felt blessed. Truly and utterly blessed to know this, to feel it, to be comforted by it.
The Scarlet Letter
Leading up to my trip I had been wrestling with an upsetting situation regarding some friends and family. It was brought to my attention that I had come up as the topic of conversation at a gathering back home, one I was too far away to attend. The question asked was regarding how I was doing- but no really, how is she doing? A loaded insinuation that a mere "she's fine" would not and could not suffice. How could I be fine? I often worry there is a permanent P etched on my chest- a scarlet letter for pity. A damaged reputation- and even with my growth and successes there will remain a glowing P on my chest so that despite of it all or rather in spite of it all, there will always be hushed voices asking everyone but me, how is she doing? And on top of it I'll have to learn to sit with the knowledge that the people I love are all concurring amongst each other that the answer to that question is inevitably and obviously "broken". She is broken. She is sad. She is angry. She hates New York. She is as expected. A damaged reputation. I am reduced to a single sentiment, feeling, a scarlet letter. I am robbed of complexities and a comeback story and reduced to broken in the eyes of the people I trust with my saddest moments, my darkest hours, the proof of a fractured heart. And here it was broken again at the understanding that to those closest to me, those I have asked to share in my grief, to share in my burden, I am seen as sad and angry and broken. But really, how is she? She is sad. She is angry. She hates New York. Pity. Let's order dinner. Let's take a selfie. Lets move on.
My Authentic Self
I decided to spend the weekend in the DC Area. Recharging. A family member just relocated there and so it served as the perfect excuse to make the 4 hour road trip and see her as well as some old friends. It was a trip filled with laughter, great food, old friends and in nature. There were late night conversations about life over cheap wine, making strangers laugh, people watching, kayaking, catching up with Peace Corps volunteers, sun bathing, hiking, cupcakes, yoga, moments of solitude and laughing until I cried over silly jokes. I am very much alive. I am not broken. Pity is wasted on me. Over and over I came back to this deep place of gratitude for the privilege to take the time off, to afford this trip, to have loved ones to stay with, for people truly excited to see me and spend time with me, for the wisdom to know to spend time alone on vacation, for the opportunities to be in nature, to feel the sun on my skin and for the air in my lungs. Grateful to be asked about Mateo over dinner and to get to say his name, to talk about my journey. To reflect on where I was with my grief 3 years ago and to witness its transformation, though not its departure. To sit with people who hadn't seen me since before my loss and have them say "you seem different, but in a good way". I am different. I have room for sadness and happiness, grief and gratitude, joy and anger. At one point in my life I couldn't feel anything and then eventually just crippling pain. Grateful to feel beyond the pain. I am grateful for the ability to feel the pain and contrast it to the joy. To admit I carry both, that this is my life.
I was told a couple of times that I was courageous this weekend and it was nice to hear that not in relation to having survived losing a son. When people say I'm courageous for going on with my life despite my loss- I often wonder if they understand what the alternative entails. I was told that there was courage in my ability to continuously be my authentic self. To choose a life that aligns with my beliefs and priorities. To not worry about how others might perceive it. To be told that it's brave that I follow my dreams, that I follow my heart. What a truly beautiful compliment. Thank You.
Pictures from this weekend!
