A sunrise painfully beautiful greeted me on the way to work this week.
I had a lot to do to get ready for my day at CRMS — but the beauty and calm of it sucked me in – and the worry just melted away, as I, and my incessant drive to go,go,go – became tiny, and the world felt large, again, if only for a few minutes.
It’s easy to feel connected to whatever surge there is that is bigger than humans when you’re contemplating beauty like that.
And for those precious minutes I thought nothing about lesson planning, grading, soccer practices, making lunches, picture day, accelerated math, whether Garrett should get a phone, if I’m applying to grad school or not, what to make for dinner, if the laundry is done, if there’s a sale on pork chops at Hannaford and whether I can get there before it ends…
Anyway, the point is – the sunrise. In difficult times, like when my father was dying, I was incessantly pissed off that the sun kept rising and the world kept turning and people continued buying gas and loaves of bread – as if my world weren’t coming apart at the hem. Grief did that to me. I wanted every person I encountered to stop and acknowledge that for me, the world had shifted and was unbearably heavy.
But on this morning, in the center calm of that sunrise, I was sharply reminded that it shifts for someone every single day.
I have a friend in California whose mother is fighting a massive battle with cancer, for example. A little girl, age 2, who lives in the town next to ours, lost her leg to MRSA a few weeks back. A 16 year old boy who attended John Bapst died last week in a car crash no one can explain. My neighbor lost her beloved dog of 9 years this weekend. Those are just a few local things; so, not to mention the millions of people living on our streets and in refugee camps all over the globe. The ones who have no clean drinking water. The parentless children eeking out their survival by picking trash out of dumps. I don’t know, folks. It can get to a person.
And the world keeps turning. Somehow.
It’s worth remembering that I live in one of the most beautiful places on earth. It is mine, and I belong to it as much as it belongs to me. I want nothing more than to be right here, living this life, contemplating these life altering moments and situations with people I love the most.
I am glad I am home.
Molly Ross said:
Hey, Vicki – Once again – you bring tears to my eyes. I hope you have all of these blogs together somewhere – you must publish them someday. I’d buy that calendar and read a new one every day! Please contact me at some point, I’d love to see you and I don’t have your email anymore…. XO Molly
From your friend in California–I am so glad I didn’t miss this post. Yes–I know the feeling of disbelief that the world keeps turning. Yet even in my pain, I also have moments of the grace you describe so beautifully. Thank you for the Maine sunrise. I miss it so.
Kay Hamlin said:
Jane Cady said:
Nice one, Vic.
avis winchester said:
And we are glad you are home! Keep writing, my friend…your words remind us all to appreciate what we have in this beautiful world.