Now & Later

My world was rocked this weekend, and it didn't even happen to me.*

I spent much of Saturday in tears, trying to make sense of something that is senseless, and asking questions that are, at best, unanswerable.

It wasn't until I woke up Sunday morning, feeling just a tiny bit better about the whole thing, that I realized the only salve for profound emotional pain is time. Which sounds hokey but is so unbelievably true.

And this got me to wondering about the idea, the goal, of "living in the moment." I've written about that a lot in the past, mainly because my own life gets so busy and I get so caught up in where I need to be next and what I need to do next that I miss what's happening right in front of me. But what if the present moment is just so damn painful that you want to be anywhere but here, any time but in the present? When you know that in five years, you'll hurt way less than you hurt now. And you wish, with all your heart, that you could just blink your eyes and be there, five years later, with less pain.

I think this is why people drink. It temporarily numbs the pain. You drink and drink until you don't feel anything any more. The only problem is when you wake up the pain is still there, now accompanied by a hangover. So you drink again, to numb it again. Ah, so this is how people become alcoholics.

No, I didn't drink myself into a coma this weekend. I'm just saying I can understand why people do it. Why they fall for fleeting relief.

No, my drugs of choice are cleaning products and mad organizational skills. "Okay, I can't fix that, but I can make the bed and do laundry and put these clothes away and hang up this shirt and clean the litterbox and organize my desk..." I bury myself in straightening my environment when I can't straighten out the mess in my head, or fix what's hurting those I love most.

So there's this dichotomy. This desire to live fully in the present and experience everything that's happening right now, right here, because we get but one chance and each day lost is a day we can't get back. How does one balance that with the need for distance and time to just feel better?

I suspect this is one of those Great Unanswerable Questions. And I'm becoming more comfortable with the idea that sometimes there isn't an answer and that you just have to muddle through as best you can, and maybe do a little cleaning along the way.

*No, I will not disclose to whom it happened, nor what it was. I'm usually the girl who can find a silver lining in any situation, and I take great pride in that. There was no silver lining this weekend, though. Not that I can find right now anyway. It is what it is...a deep, dark hole the likes of which I hope I never personally experience, and which saddens my soul for those who do.


Someone reading this will know what its about, and to you, I can only say that I love you and I am here for you always. I can't fix your broken heart, but I can hold your hand while you mend. And I promise you that you will, indeed, mend.