The Gift of Distance

On my drive into work this morning the struggle to write this post began to actually bear fruit.  Words began to formulate, and as I know how my brain works I grabbed my phone and told Siri to open up voice memos.  I spoke the words, choppy and random, that it felt my soul was wanting to say.  I got to work and began typing out my dictation.  I deleted the voice recording and stared at the one next in the queue.  It was simply titled 11/11/11.  I was a little confused thinking I’d accidentally recorded a second recording without realizing it.  Obviously not paying attention to the year, let alone the day.

And then I pushed play, and it all came rushing back.

A verbal diary recorded 3 years, 1 day previously.  Five days after I watched as my life fell apart.  As I listened today I could still hear the hurt and confusion and anger that lined my voice; and tears welled in my eyes.

I don’t think it was an accident that I “stumbled” on that recording today.  This time of year is difficult for me because I remember everything with vivid clarity.  Everything.

October last year I wrote a post for SRC titled Ten Things I Want You to Know.  It was ten things I needed to be reminded of, as much as it was intended for you.  #8 was:

“You are likely much farther along than you feel.  Some days you’re going to feel like you’ve only taken a couple steps when the reality is you’ve come a long way baby.”

You see, I feel that I’m never very far from that breakdown in my life.  I feel like I’m running in place and when I look back over my shoulder it’s still right there at the tips of my outstretched fingers.  At times I feel like I’m still on the verge of retreating back into those feelings I mentioned above.  I feel hopelessness dance on the bridge of my heart, and despair gripping it with white knuckles.

Yet as I listened to this chronicle I realized I am much farther than I feel most days.  And I needed that.  I needed to feel some deliverance from these days that haunt me and taste the sweet fragrance of hope.


1233423-300I stand on the cliff and overlook the waves.  The view is beautiful from here.

One thought on “The Gift of Distance

Comments are closed.