It has become quite a habit these days that many use the word love as many times as possible trying to forge connection to an audience, they family, their friends. So many times we are tricked into thinking that love is these grand gestures, spending lots of money for a gift, recognition on social media, for others to see and like or envy, compromising until resent sets in. Nothing can be further from the truth.
I started looking for a funny, short soap to pick me up in the evening. Didn’t work. I then tried new seasons of shows I used to love. Nope. Not that either. Tried new shows altogether. Useless.
Shutting parts of ourselves out only exaggerates their pull, hiding what scares us behind the door only gives it power. I realised that what I actually need is more travel into the past with my present self, more intention to stay my course while I look at what was and understand how far I have come.
Reading it, breathlessly many times, I felt this book took me back through a tunnel of time, to moments of gut wrenching angst, deep questioning or immense joy, to crossroads where a force larger than what I can explain pushed me in the direction or progress and good and left me feeling, in my bones, the two words that have now become such a feminist statement: #metoo.
Before we know it … a day turned into a week, a month and one day we remember we had started something good way back in the day but fell off the wagon. This is when, ashamed and unenergised, we reach the crossroads between the trap of magic thinking and the power of one step.
I choose to celebrate this holiday season by remembering the magic of every sliding door in my life. By recognising the power that exists in us – us as one, that is – and celebrating that by connecting even when it is hard and painful.