i recently moved into a new apartment. it’s been about two months and the boxes just keep coming. most of them have been stored in my mother’s basement since last march. some of them are freshly packed full of items from my childhood bedroom- books i want to always keep, sewing scraps i’m eager to finally use, old pictures.
in one box, i found a notebook i started writing in last year. most of the contents are reflection (both fiction and non) on events of 2010. in that year, i through-hiked the colorado trail with my brother, spent a month trekking in peru with my sister, and moved back to san francisco from colorado (again) to take on what i considered to be my “dream job.” it was a good year. a great year.
the year i was writing, 2011, my father had passed away in the spring, and i spent the rest of the year just trying to figure out why. when he died, a friend of mine told me to use the grief as a means to create. herself an amazing photographer and artist, she knew my emotions would be powerful and important. but i didn’t see it and lost almost all motivation for the things i enjoyed. i’ve since considered 2011 my lost year- few adventures, no creative awakenings.
but today, i see that it wasn’t all lost. my journal is filled with deep reflection of the life changing 2010 i had. it’s full of emotion, words i’ve been afraid to say, great hope, and a new sense of adventure. i used to think i lost myself in 2011, but now almost a year later in the fall of 2012, i see that it may have been some of the most important self awakening i’ve experienced.
i’m not sure i’ll be brave enough to share it all, but there are a few beautiful stories that recite the year i found out how to live from a voice who felt like she’d lost it all.
this one may possibly be my favorite:
“…we completed that trip in 36 days. as we pulled out of durango for the car ride home (only nine hours by driving), my brother started crying. it was the silent kind, sweet and powerful. my heart broke to say goodbye to such a journey and goodbye to the twisted companionship we could never have again. and yet, there was also happiness- accomplished, proud. his tears, so like rain, were his single sign of feeling something, everything- saddness, defeat, regret, pride, happiness, success, alive. i cried too, and patted his leg. we had done it together, dr. wilfred funk and me.”