Usually when I sit down to write about something, I’ll recall recent memories and put them down into words after running ’em through a sort of contextual filter that helps me to understand what it all means, and how it all connects to everything else around me. Ditto for long term memories. That’s why I blog. It’s my way of checking in with myself.
It’s good methinks to check back on those articles to see if how my view then, measures up with how I see things now. I know that I am in a different place. The fog of some memories has lifted, while my perspective on others remains yet unrefined.
I found myself in a conversation with someone who is fast becoming a good friend. She’s going through something I experienced for myself a few years back. I recall in vivid full colour, the pain of those memories – except that pain is no longer there. It passed some time ago, without ceremony or poetry. I went looking on the shelf for it, as I tried relating my painful story to my friend’s, and the pain was simply gone. Just a hole left behind.
Same hole that was there when that piece of myself was ripped from me. Felt like a giant crater at the time. The bleeding edges have healed over. Scar tissue. Nothing new will grow there – and I’m okay with that. I wouldn’t trade that hole for anything.
It’s been a couple years or so, and I’ve found that I’ve grown passed that hole. My sense of who I am, and what I want, and what I’ve experienced has grown much bigger than where I was then. The hole remains the same, but I am more than who I was at the time.