I'm not quite sure how to cognitively resolve the incongruity that was this weekend. Every time I looked at the internets, I was assaulted by pictures of the wreckage in Japan and then the unthinkable tragedy of the murder and brutal assault of two women in my yoga/pilates community.
But it was the first day where spring felt sprung. I've been watching a daffodil struggle through the hard earth over the last week, shivering up. Today it bloomed, a cheerful bright yellow head stretching up, greeting me, "Oh hells yeah SPRING. It's ON!"
And after some pretty dark months, I'm ready to bloom again. For reals this time, not just in a manic, I'm reallyreallyreally fine and not depressed and not grieving and I feel just fine see everything that I'm doing and did I mention I'm really fine kind of way that I had in the late months of 2010 as chaos was swirling around me.* After a final blowout with my evidently-not-so-life partner, I realized how much mental energy I was spending on putting up that front.
I started some therapy, started some meditation, and started talking a lot like an alcoholic, whatwith the taking-it-one-day-at-a time business. The latter was slightly disconcerting to my friends, given my affinity for delicious craft cocktails, but I soothed their fears by crafting them said delicious craft cocktails. No one thinks you're an alcoholic if you're making them something tasty. Also, if they're drunk.
At the same time, I figured as long as I was going to be depressed, why not dig in really deep and start to deal with some of the trauma from growing up with dysfunction that made the Tennenbaums seem like the Smurfs. Maybe that's a poor analogy. The Smurfs were pretty messed up. Papa Smurf? Definitely a pederast.
The process has helped me learn how to process emotions. My general m.o. up until now has been to package up those unsavory feelings, compartmentalizing them neatly into a bento box so that they can get shoved the deepest attic of my soul where it can sit undisturbed until it turns into cancer. I learned this process of dealing with life, sometimes referred to as The Irish Method, from my family, particularly my parents, who have 300% success rate with turning feelings into cancer. Instead, I'm learning to feel an emotion and release it.
Ok, I'm going to stop waxing philosophical on how I process emotions as that's not quite where I was intending to go with this post. The point is, perhaps I don't need to resolve the stark contrast between the trauma of finding out that my safe haven of a community is vulnerable and happiness at having spent time with friends. Or scouring pictures of devastation in Japan while looking at the seedlings that will sprout into my first garden in a few short weeks. Entropy and development work in a chaotic concert together. Maybe it's best not to think about it too hard, but just feel what's there.
Still, I picked up The Cat and hugged him so tight that he squeaked. Meep.
*In brief: chaos of 2010 in chronological order: got sued, got suicide bombed, had a two year work project spectacularly fail, ended my relationship with my evidently not life partner, got robbed, got sexually assaulted, got mugged, and guided my mom and my cat through massive illnesses.