You see, something has happened. Something almost imperceptible externally, but oh so noticeable to me. The earth has shifted on its axis again. My world has righted itself.
That deep green mucky hole I've been wallowing in has been filling up. For awhile I've felt as if I might be able to grab the top and pull myself out. And now I have.
Don't get me wrong, my living room gorilla hasn't suddenly turned into a cute little monkey I can put in a cage. He's still there. But now he prefers to hang out in the bedroom or the bathroom. Sometimes he even heads out to the garage.
Those are the good days.
I wish I could pinpoint exactly what or when everything changed. I can't. But I can tell you when I first consciously noticed it.
Sitting on a plane with Hollis, shortly after take off from Norfolk on our way to New Orleans, the sun started to rise. The tiny toy world from above the clouds is always amazing, isn't it? But that morning the amber glow of fresh sunlight made everything, even our unnatural silver tube, golden.
I watched Hollis, squirming in his window seat with excitement, wanting to see everything but happy just riding along waiting to discover what would happen next. I realized that I was happy to be there with him, on that journey, even if we never reached our destination.
That's what life is, isn't it?
So in the air at 15,000 feet, with my son and our sun, I realized that I want to give my children more of me. Not more of my physical presence, or even more time reading books, coloring, or rough housing, but more of what is essentially me. The part of me that I so often try to keep closed off from everyone, even those who love me best. The part of me that depression makes so ugly and moribund.
I'm going to try to enjoy my journey even if the destination isn't necessarily clear and the ride isn't as smooth as it could be.
I want to see what happens next.
So I'm going to turn my head to the sun as often as I can and remember that feeling I had at 15,000 feet; the belief for one moment that everything was going to be just fine.
If that doesn't work, I'm going to focus on this:
and keep breathing, keep living.
It's a start.