Monday, February 9, 2009
When did life become serious? I can pinpoint when life changed, when I grew up, but did life become serious at that point? I think it was a gradual change. One where responsibility for teaching children, worrying about bills, hating my neighborhood, wondering about the future, and not having time with my husband built up slowly from one little piece of clay to the next. By the age of 37, I had built not some beautiful masterpiece but an ugly, clunky urn. An urn with uneven walls and questionable contents. Don't misunderstand me, ugly can be beautiful. And, the process of building up anything in clay is a messy, hands-on experience with spiritual benefits which can be gained purely from the process rather than the result. But, after examining this clunky urn, it was clear that it needed to be smashed down into a ball again and rebuilt. I needed to take the old clay and, rather than discard it, form it into a more pleasing shape with a steadier foundation. The reformation started to take place in me after the realization that I needed to accept myself each day for who I am, with no regard for whether the house was clean or dirty, whether I had written my first novel or whether those around me were happy or not. Some might look at me and think that I am living in denial or dissociating from my present circumstances but that is just not the case.