Acceptance
The rain is pouring down this afternoon. I run to close the windows and doors, keeping the wet from getting in. Though my deep rooted instinct is to go out, get drenched, feel the wind and taste the salt, instead I am safe and dry inside my home, a cup of hot coffee by my side. The sparrows are sheltering from the rain too.
Lately, acceptance has become the leit motif in my world. Too many years wasted on fighting the good fight, the worn out emotion, hanging on, clinging to old memories. If guilt and grief have their way at too young an age, a person can grow up with an overdeveloped sense of their own inadequacy. Not good enough to live for? Not loved enough? Then fight always, fight to hold on, to not let in change, to hold on to life as it was once – happy, carefree, innocent.
You can pour all your life force into this fight. It’s you versus the world, and damned if you don’t give it your all, every day, every waking and sleeping moment. Years slip by, new people, wonderful experiences come and go. Some people stay, anchor you as you fight on against unseen ghosts. They hold on, and you never even notice the shelter in the storm, the respite from the struggle.
The ones you’ve fought so hard to hold on to, are only connected to you by frail threads, if at all. These stretch through time and space, stretch and stretch till they snap. The ones at the other end go swirling away into a void and you are left holding the broken strands.
Acceptance. It comes to us all. Youth rails against it, rages against it but youth leaves all too soon. When it does, it leaves the door open a crack. Then quietly, without a fanfare, enter peace of mind, calm, acceptance. Some are blessedly visited at an early age, others have to wait longer.
Acceptance of loss. Of life and love. The hardest of all is making peace with loss. Loss of life is like a ripple in a pool, caused by a stone falling. The stone disappears into the depths almost immediately, the ripples remain to disturb the calm of the water. The trick is to see the beauty in the ripples, not to long for the calm surface that once was. In some ways, loss of love is harder, if the one lost has walked away. The ripples have to be really beautiful to keep that grief of apathy and abandonment at bay.
Acceptance of new beginnings. You might be half way down the road before you turn around and realise the road you thought you had chosen is winding away into the distance and here you are, feet set in a new direction, new companions by your side.
Acceptance of circumstances. What if and if only are all- consuming questions until you stop asking. Everything changes. In alternate universes where each version of you is making a myriad different decisions, change is the only constant.
Acceptance of breath. Grief, that early, unwelcome guest, leaves you with a need to draw short, shallow breaths. The quick breath allows you to hope for the existence of the next one. If you’ve seen breath stop forever, you know what I am trying to say. But a life spent drawing shallow breaths is a life half spent. Drawing in a lung full of air is possibly the hardest thing I’ve done.
You might scoff at this struggle. Deep breaths and lost love are everyday affairs. Accept it, cut your losses and move on. It’s good advice but harder to follow than it sounds. The price I’ve paid for this acceptance has been steep. Therefore, its value to me is greater than to most.
Now perhaps, I’ll open the windows and let the rain come in. Getting drenched will have to wait for another day.