Grey.
Well guys. It’s almost Christmas. We are less than a week away. Which means the new year isn’t much further. And it sure is giving me the feels.
This last year has been…a journey. A long, hard, exhausting journey. I have endured things I never thought I’d face. I have fought battles in a war I never thought I’d win. I have cried tears into an ocean deeper than my soul could reach. And yet I survived.
I won’t go into details. I’ve sought treatment and healing in many places this year. I’ve surrendered hope and mustered strength more times than I can count. And yet I’m still standing.
I lost myself, then found myself. More than once.
I am 37 years old. The last few months have made me…nostalgic I believe is the word I’m looking for. My dreams are filled with memories. I wake up exhausted and sad. Yearning. My life is not what I imagined it to be 20 years ago.
The other day I went searching for something in the basement and I came across a wardrobe. I opened it and began flipping through the hangers. A white robe. A Bull Run t-shirt. A variety of NROTC uniforms. A red cape. Countless formal gowns.
Tears shed for a life forfeit. A life lost. A life missed.
A life oh so desperately missed.
I’m reminded of my hopes and dreams. None of which were achieved. None of which CAN be achieved.
And I feel lost. Sad. Hopeless. Defeated.
Those memories feel like a lifetime ago. Where did the last 20 years go? What do I have to show for myself? What forward movement have I made? What have I accomplished?
This is not what I envisioned for my life. This is not how I pictured my future.
It’s easy to get discouraged, so I frequently do. It’s hard to stay positive, so I frequently don’t. It’s difficult to see my successes or visualize my purpose, so I fail at those things more often than not.
Most days I feel blah. Which sounds depressing. I know. But hear me out.
Feeling blah means NOT feeling:
Anxious
Depressed
Ashamed
Disgusted
Stressed
Fearful
So even though I may be lacking in joy and hope and inspiration, I am filled with gratitude for the things my “blahness” limits me in experiencing.
Right?
I mean, anxiety used to paralyze me. Depression has nearly killed me. Shame has isolated me. Disgust has caused self-hatred. Stress has resulted in nervous breakdowns. Fear has brought me to my knees.
So a life with a limited experience of these emotions certainly feels like a victory to me. It’s certainly a gift I will accept with open arms.
We often see things in black and white. I am happy or I am sad. I am beautiful or I am ugly. I am healthy or I am sick.
And I think this prevents us from being content. From appreciating the moment. The people. The life that we have. The now.
Just because I am not joyous does not mean that I hate my life and am depressed. Just because I don’t like the way I look doesn’t mean I have to be ashamed of my appearance and fearful of judgement from others. Just because I have a million medical appointments doesn’t mean I can’t be thankful for the things my body CAN do.
Just because I’ve spent so long living in the black, doesn’t mean I can’t learn to live in the grey.
Years ago my room used to be painted a dark red. I spent a lot of time trying to decide what color I wanted to repaint it. I ultimately settled on a light grey. I found it peaceful and serene. Calming. Neutral.
I painted a dark, depressing red room that felt as if it was closing in on me a light and peaceful grey. And I felt a sense of accomplishment and serenity.
I let my daughter help, so between the two of us there are many imperfections. Then I put a dent in the wall when I moved my desk back into place. So it’s not a perfect paint job for sure. But it’s better than it was. MUCH better than it was.
Painting is hard work. It requires a lot of preparation and can be frustrating at times. But the end result is very rewarding.
I feel like I’ve been engaged in the act of repainting my soul over the past 20 years. It took me a while to figure out what was wrong with my soul. That I didn’t like the color. I didn’t like the way the color made me feel. And at first, I didn’t realize that I had the option to change the color. I didn’t just have to live with it. And then I spent all this time trying to figure out the easiest way to repaint. I didn’t want to move the furniture, tape the trim, use the ladder, and put the effort into completing the job myself. I certainly didn’t want to paint 2 coats. I wasted a lot of time waiting. And I regret that. But eventually, I realized that the only way things were going to change was if I painted the room myself. So I did.
And now I get to live in the grey. The work was worth it. The effort was rewarded. And doing it myself makes me value, cherish, and appreciate it even more than I would have if someone just waved their wand and done it for me. I have more gratitude in my soul and I fight harder to keep things from getting too dark again.
Now, when I have extra time or money, I spend it cleaning or buying a new decorative pillow for my bed. I get to spruce things up and make the room a little more pleasant and welcoming to exist in. I like to play music in my room or wrap myself in a cozy blanket.
Like my room, my body and soul are a more peaceful place to be now that I’ve traded darkness for the color grey.
Sometimes I let things spiral out of control. My room becomes cluttered and I neglect to vacuum or dust. Just like I sometimes neglect doing the things I know enrich my soul. I fail to write or create and socialize or fully embrace the life I’ve been given. And I become overwhelmed, restless, and disillusioned. But then I step back and notice what has happened. I bring in a trash bag and throw out the garbage. And I start again.
It makes me sad that it’s taken 20 years to learn that grey is okay. It makes me sad that it required the loss of so many things. So many hopes. So many dreams. So many people. So many memories. So much life and soul and joy and laughter. It has cost me much. I don’t know if that hole in my soul will ever fully heal. That is something I must grow to accept.
But the journey has taught me much about myself. About the world. About my loved ones. About who and what I really am. And that is something that cannot be replaced.
Had I succeeded in achieving my hopes and dreams, my life would look very different than it currently does. And when I get too nostalgic, I try to remind myself of the grey. That while that alternate future might have brought me joy, it would have also brought me pain. A pain that I might not have been equipped for had I not experienced the injuries, abuse, loss, and failure that I endured in those first 2 years of college. 2 years that changed the course of my life forever.
Sometimes the nostalgia makes me sad. Sometimes it makes me uncertain. Sometimes it causes me to wonder. Sometimes it brings me hope. And sometimes it serves me with a healthy dose of gratitude.
This season brings something that I know many people take issue with. Christmas cards. Holiday greetings from close family and long lost friends. Personally, I love it. I love being reminded of the people who made an imprint in my life. People I may not have talked to in 20 years, but who brushed my life in monumental ways. Most of them have no idea of their impact. But those cards flood me with memories and gratitude. And are therefore one of the most special parts of this season for me.
I know this post got a bit long. And I know the path took a lot of sharp turns. But I really have been overwhelmed by this sense nostalgia and this desperate need for the past to hold meaning and for that meaning to give purpose to my future.
I am thankful for the hard times that make the good times sweet and sunny. I am thankful for the black and white, for they give birth to grey. And I am thankful for the chance to live in the in-between. In a state of contentment and gratitude. Fully.