If I could use a word to describe the past three years of my life, my initial response would be "stress." Stress has been the monumental figure in my life; I'm constantly trying to dance around it, and avoid it until I'm forced to confront it. And the confrontations are always brutal.
The second word I would come to, is "failure." I have been far too acquainted with this word over the years; a little over a year ago I applied to a job I was sure I was destined to get. I applied, immediately got rejected, and applied again, only to be rejected again. The institution was doing a mass hiring event, and I resolved to go anyway - never mind my two rejected applications - to present myself as one of the 100 candidates they were going to hire that day. I curled my hair while sobbing as I watched inspiring clips of Will Smith dialogues from, 'The Pursuit of Happiness,' I told my roommates that I was coming home with this job because "I claimed it, it's mine!" And left, with the conviction that if I willed it, it was mine. (I have read 'The Alchemist,' about a hundred times too many).
A few hours later, I returned home (after returning the suit jacket I had bought to interview in that couldn't afford) without even making it into an interview.
And then there's the failures that happen daily: the failures that every mother feels when they wonder if they are doing enough to ensure that their kid turns out to be a good person. The failures of knowing your kid doesn't get enough vegetables, or that you don't have enough patience with your child, or knowing that your kid watches too much TV.
The failures of building relationships and maintaining relationships. The failure you meet after you follow a dream, only to discover that your dreams has changed by the time you start to open the door. The long list of failures that are universally felt, as well as the ones unique to only ourselves.
But tonight, I was driving home- dreaming up new opportunities and dreams- ones that could very well turn into next years failures- but I can't feel anything but gratefulness and humility at the thought of them.
my ugly pile of stress and failures and shortcomings- is starting to look more like the foundation of a house from a blueprint that I haven't been given the right to see yet.
I am thankful that the tearful moments of stress have turned into a boxing ring of resilience.
I am thankful that my rejections have tested the endurance of my hope,
And trained me to turn my "no's" into "not yet's."
I am thankful that when I thought I was cornered, I was told to dig,
And the times that I dug so much I reached the water, I had someone from the other side throw me a rope and told me to climb.
I am certain this is all making into a better woman.
I will end this with the inscription found on Rumi's tomb, which I find to be both beautiful and fitting:
"[...]Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vows
a thousand times.
Come, yet again, come, come."
