I see this view a lot these days. The carpet in my therapist’s waiting room.
It’s wave after wave of messy, chaotic emotions. And not nice beachy waves, but those giant killer waves they write gut-wrenching surf movies about. Documentaries on tsunamis and category 5 tropical storms. Rain boots are useless. Waders only weigh you down. I need a scuba suit with an oxygen tank.
But I get tiny glimpses of hope. I see shreds of future. Tiny shards of possibility. The brutality that made me the way I am seems to be the very thing breaking down who I am so that who I’m meant to be can be born.
I’m so in over my head. This life is not a spa or a wading pool. It’s the ocean. And it crashes against you. It burns your sinuses and your eyes. There are sharp rocks at the bottom. Currents and tides buffet you.
But there’s coral reefs and vivid underwater life. The dolphins leap into the sunshine once in a while chattering to each other. Briefly the harshness of it all contrasts sharply with a miracle and your heart gets to rejoice for a moment suspended in time.