filling them

i am not heart broken any more. if i had to say i am anything at all, i would say that i am appeased. the dust has settled and i am through with telling that story. isn't it a strange thing, to no longer miss missing someone? and yet... it happens quite naturally... one day or morning, you wake up. you dress yourself. you drive to work in your silly little car. you listen to the songs that profess all those words you could not say yourself, and you realize like you've known all the while - that you are through. only this time, you know it's true. you feel it inside you. no longer is there a hollowing void, but instead there is room for growth. the wound has healed, the scab has fallen, and now all that's left is new flesh. it'a a place that is soft and pink and tender to the touch. proof of healing.

so much of my moving on has been like this. gain and loss. victory and defeat. succed and fail. love and heartbreak and then ... love again. but i am beginning to see that this a pattern of life itself - growth then pause then growth again. everything in life reaches a platue, a point when there seems to be no progress, before it begins to grow again... i suppose we must endure before we can advance.

i think what has helped me to endure is the ability to share. wether it's through a polaroid or a silly cyber blog.. it has made a difference in me.

there is something uniquly special and equally scary when you put yourself out there like that. all the words of your heart and quirky shades of your life are depicted on a computer screen for the world to see. and there are no garuntees that anyone will understand it, or that they will agree with you. hell! no one may ever even see it!!! but that is not why you do it. you share becasue you simply must. it helps. it helps you endure your shitty day, till something better comes along. it helps you put into words the things you can not describe. it helps you capture a feeling you can't bear to let go of... endure, then growth. that is the plan.

so today i am sharing a polaroid of my red shoes. i wore these the other day and my mom told me a story of how she had similar ones in the 70's. she said her mother gave them to her and it was ironic that i happened to own a similar pair.

my grandmother, eva, used to knit quilts for everyone in the family. amazing patterns of finely dyed fabric, patched together in a timeline, telling the story of our families history, while keeping us warm at night.

my mother chronicled her adventures in the listening ears of her children as they grew up. stories of bell-bottoms and hitch hiking, sneaking out of bedroom windows - into aerosmith concerts, finding love, and losing it, only to find it once again. her stories cure me. they are joni mitchele and tomatoe soup. they are bike rides in the summer and arts n' crafts.

now i have begun to tell my own stories - with my sx 70 slinged over my chest - i hope to someday fill the brightly colored shoes of these two remarkable women :)