One of my favorite bloggers recently wrote this post titled Maybe it’s NOT about the happy ending, maybe it’s about the story. Her marriage ended five years ago and she still finds herself dealing with the fact that her life is different from what she thought it would be. And dealing with not knowing where things are going… how it’s going to end. Boy do I relate. I can let my mind wander to that place I thought I’d be right now and that I thought I knew who I’d grow old with. Or that I’d have someone to grow old with at all.
I still don’t really recognize this life.
So there was this beautiful comment left after the post and I’ve copied it here:
I read an article about a mother who had a child who was born with special needs. She likened it to planning a trip to France – you know everything about France but when you get off the plane you’re in Holland. It’s not that Holland isn’t beautiful but you don’t know your way around and you were expecting France! I think you’ve landed in Holland and you are doing a great job finding your way in an unexpected and unknown place! xoxo Nancy
I’m so thankful for that commenter’s way of explaining things to that blogger, because I can completely relate it to me. It’s not that I can’t or don’t love my life now, it’s that it isn’t what I’d grown over the past 15 years to know and desire. But what I knew and desired for myself then is GONE. And I find myself HERE. In my Holland.
I was thinking about all this and realized I had a couple things from the time I was actually in Holland in the shadowbox in my bedroom.
It may sound silly, but I’ve read lots of books on feng shui and I’ve come to regard my bedroom as the “place” that is most personal to my life. You know that old: if you want more passion, light red candles; if you are feeling stagnant, add live plants or aquariums. And so here in my bedroom, my most intimate place, I’m seeing “Holland?” I love it.
And the souvenirs weren’t all of it.
The toile fabric I’d used for curtains in the room also has windmills. In the scene shown below it almost looks as if Andrea and I (on the left) were just dropped off the boat… to our new life.
And in the following scene I’m being gently coaxed: “Here’s your life, over here.” I look skeptical. And scared.
I was hoping there was a contented scene to make me feel better, so I looked between some fabric folds and I found her (below). Rather industrious, isn’t she. And smiling. And that tells me, if I’m to follow this story, that she’s found peace.
No crying over yesterday or looking back, she’s home.
I will be, too.