In this silence
Delirium ft. Sarah McLachlan, “Silence”
I opened up my email tonight, skimming through the messages I’ve intentionally left bolded for weeks, meant to be read another day, another time.
Pending creative projects, hello updates from friends, unfinished drafts of blog posts that I so desperately want to finish, ideas and thoughts I want to articulate, feelings I so desperately want to understand…
But I can’t.
I feel empty.
Empty of words, yet so full of life, and I wonder: is it always one or the other?
I’ve gained so much these last few months: I’ve seen the value of hard work and determination, learned that nothing comes so easily that’s worthwhile and that everything happens in its own time, when it’s ready for you, not when you’re ready for it. I’ve learned to see me, to really see who I am and how I’ve grown and appreciate the beauty in that change for the first time in a very long time; I’ve embraced the reflection in the mirror, I’ve remembered who I am at my core…I’ve begun to laugh again that deep-belly laugh and giggle my way to smiles and tears.
I’ve sparked new, amazing friendships and tended the flames of old ones. I’ve held hands that needed holding, I’ve given hugs of solace and embraced excitement, I’ve placed and answered late night phone calls when we needed reminding that the night lasts for only so long…
I’ve said my goodbyes. Again.
I’ve realized this is my final goodbye as I tuck my past and those I’ve loved and lost in the secret spaces of my heart, where memory and love reside.
I’ve realized I’m finally ready to say hello to a future that never felt safe, in all its uncertainty. Still, a future that holds promise, if I’m willing to give it a chance.
So, I’ve learned and I’ve grown and I’ve seen my life begin to change as I’ve begun to change. And, still, I wonder how I can feel so full and still so empty?
I miss feeling connected, miss that self-awareness, miss the comfort that comes with wondering and philosophizing and seeking your own answers, your own truths.
I miss talking to the Universe.
I miss God.
I haven’t been willing to listen.
So I sat down tonight, intent on trying to figure out what’s been going on with me, why this mental block, why I can’t articulate anything at all — and why I’m just excusing it by saying “I’m busy” or “I’m living and enjoying life instead of writing about it.”
The truth is, I’ve been afraid of finding the answer: Afraid that for all that I’ve learned, I’d forgotten the lessons.
Afraid that for all that I’ve gained, I’ve lost that much more.
Afraid that there’s nothing left.
I sat down tonight, ready to procrastinate on Twitter or Facebook or Netflix like any other night. But as I skimmed through my new emails, I accidentally opened one I originally had no intention of reading.
There is a silence, a peace, and a calm that belies every moment, Susan.
You’ll find me there.
Maybe all it takes is silence to learn how to listen.
Maybe all it takes is listening to find your voice again.
Actually, you can find me anywhere, Susan, but there in the silence I’m harder to miss.
Maybe in this silence, I’ll find what I’ve been missing.