A Glimmer of Light

A couple of days ago I had a moment that, in and of itself, wasn't anything big. At the same time, the profundity of it was earth-shaking. I think if I hadn't still been sick and depleted and low on energy I would've been thrown for a serious loop. At least I had enough presence of mind to recognize it for what it was, the first real glimmer of light on this long journey.

As I've often told people before, I really, REALLY hate being sick. One of the main reasons for it is that it seems all of the negative, unpleasant, uncomfortable emotions get amped up by an order of magnitude. I don't just get a little irritated, I suddenly have to reign in volcanic fury. I don't get a little disappointed, I get soul-crushingly depressed. I don't just get a tad anxious, but instead have to try to keep a grip on terror that wants to run wild. Irritatingly enough, it never seems like any of the positive emotions get that kind of enhancement, which is wildly unfair as far as I'm concerned. Anyway, dealing with being sick and changes at work and general stress from around this time of year was less than fun toward the end of last week. One thing that's often helped settle things out during those times is going for a walk-'n'-talk with God, where I'll walk for a couple miles, usually have a few smokes, and have a chat with the Deity-of-my-(VERY)-Limited-Understanding. Thankfully, the weather wasn't too cold last Thursday night, so I was able to head out after work to spend a bit of time with that.

As usual, it seemed to be working. Getting to walk around and vent (quietly) to the Divine seemed to be helping take a lot of the intensity out of those emotions. It made it easier to think straight, or at least straighter than I had been for most of the day. It took a lot of the sting and burn out of the caustic jambalaya of feelings that had been roiling for most of the day inside of me. In and of itself, that wasn't a big surprise. I'd found that'd worked well before, and worked well consistently. It was the main reason I was willing to head out into the dark and cold for awhile. No, the surprising part came toward the end of the walk.

For a couple of minutes, as I was nearing the end of the loop I usually follow through my neighborhood, I found myself in a bit of a daydream, as it were. I found myself imagining what it might be like to work somewhere else. For the first time, when the idea of having some challenges with a new job came to mind, I wasn't reacting with panic and recoil, but instead finding myself thinking of some ways I might be able to get those worked out. I could see myself meeting new colleagues and co-workers and getting to know them and getting along.

FOR THE FIRST TIME IN NEARLY FIVE YEARS, I COULD IMAGINE A FUTURE WITH SOME OPTIMISM AND HOPE.

It only lasted a couple of minutes, ending shortly before I got back home. There was no intense closure to it, no abrupt departure. It faded like a mildly pleasant dream during a midafternoon nap. I wasn't left with a radically altered perception of life and the cosmos. At the same time, I knew something had happened that was deeply meaningful, even if it was small and relatively quiet. A part of myself that had been inactive for a long time had briefly sparked to life. It had breathed a quiet whisper into my psyche. Thankfully, I knew better than to try to make it happen again at that moment. It was enough to know that it had happened once. And that, if it happened once, it could and likely would happen again.

I know it's not the end of the journey. I know there's more yet to come, more to face in time. There's more work yet to be done. But this is an indicator that it's been paying off. It's a tiny thing in and of itself, and yet it speaks of huge change behind the scenes. And, at the same time, it's just a bit terrifying that it's taken nearly five years to have a couple of minutes of optimism and hope for the future again. Because THAT speaks of just how catastrophically me darlin' wife's suicide had hit me. I know that others from the outside'd seen more of the devastation than I did at first; there wasn't enough of me to be able to perceive it at the time. And it's always hard to grasp the dimensions of a labyrinth while trying to work your way out of it. But that moment provides just a bit of perspective on how horrific that damage was, and what it's taken to come just this far.

But it's still a glimmer of light, bright and pure and true. It happened once. I trust it'll happen again.