two things i’m not very good at, as it turns out.
i mean, i’m pretty good at love if things are good. call me a fair-weathered friend, i guess. i can love your socks off. but when things get stormy, i sink faster than the titanic and i recover equally as well. since conflict is par for the course i think my hull is in need of major repair before i sail out again.
loss destabilizes me at the core, like thick, frothy waves beating on a sandstone cliff, eroding the surface ever deeper. i suppose i’m lucky though. i’ve faced losses that produced tidal waves, and i’m still here. no matter how eroded my core, there has always remained at least a sliver to build upon.
still, i wonder. what exactly are the repairs and rebuilds made of? is it muscles or scars?
i’ve always taken some kind of pride in having faced tremendous challenges, thinking they’ve made me stronger, more resilient. as if continuing to face them is some character building exercise and my character muscle grows thicker and stronger, hoisting me up from within. now i’m not so sure. maybe that’s just an idea i needed to hold on to.
scars do the trick, but they are fundamentally weaker than the original material. semi-permanent bandages. lumpy, hard, and sometimes numb, produced from within but somehow always still foreign.
all of this is leading me to ponder: are my experiences and choices killing me, or are they making me stronger?