Four years ago, I moved to a sweet, little beach town. One of the first things I bought besides a couch was a jewelry box. I couldn’t resist it. It was a vintage-style, red wood chest with brass handles, butterfly hinges, and Japanese artwork inside. I loved it so much that I sent pictures of it to my brother just to showcase it, despite knowing that it coming home with me did not exactly constitute “news.” In the last four years that this unique box has been in my possession, it has weathered a few moves and a few car rides, and ultimately met its fate at the hands of a two-year-old little girl. My daughter was also enamored with this jewelry box as I was and in her spirit of excitement, she removed each handle from each drawer–and not in the dainty, delicate way, but more like the Jurassic Park way. There were no handle survivors. Not the end of the world–a little more difficult to open–but it was a little disappointing at the time.
I don’t see the same jewelry box now. I can fix the handles and most likely will, but the issue is that they were severed from the drawers. The lining that covered the interior of the screws is torn, some of the back pieces are missing, and whatever I do to this thing now, it will be “modified” in my efforts to return it to its original form. The finished product will never be the same again. It will have points of vulnerability throughout where I have had to repair damages. I’ll have to remind myself to be careful with certain pieces because they may break a second time. This box is not only fractured in physical and visual forms, but its state is fractured in my mind as well.
I think any time we see disappointment, we see it as something to “come back” from–a tear in our armor we have to overcome. A few screws that got carelessly knocked out and we can no longer locate them. The goal is always to find a way to return to our original state, but we never do. Sometimes, you miss the version from the past or aspects of it. I happen to believe that time–as relentless and unforgiving as it can be–has also been kind to me. It has shown me things that I would have never seen otherwise.
I can remember when I finally held a guitar and it began to feel natural to me and less awkward. I remember the first heavy rain storm I drove through that didn’t incite fear. I remember when I got the hang of eye liner without the result resembling one of David Bowie’s back-up dancers. I remember when I wanted to give up the idea of going to graduate school because one rejection letter tore me in half.
These seem trivial, but I remember them. I remember when I realized all of those moments, and they all have one thing in common: time had to show me their worth. Time had to offer me practice points that I didn’t realize were even happening. Those moments mean nothing to other people, but they are branded in my mind forever.
I did finish graduate school, and now I’m currently working on a doctoral degree as a single mom with a full-time job. The timing could not be more insane, but I do not think readiness will ever come if I wait. I had some moments of serious doubt once I started this endeavor, and I struggled with some disappointing feedback. Time is coming through for me yet again, though, and failure is not something to which I gravitate, yet I know exactly what it feels like. I know disappointment takes on many forms for many people. We see it every day: disease, failure, death, divorce, infidelity, abandonment, rebellion, loss. I have seen enough to know that every single outcome is but a piece of this glorious puzzle in the splendor of surprise we all must endure. Trying to control any part of it–the exhaustive efforts of each attempt–only deplete the source (<- that means you).
The fear of failure is like walking up to a vintage-style, red wood box with no handles and staring at it, wishing and aching to know what is inside–angry at its blatant refusal of you. Let’s face it, a door without handles is impossible. It involves further action, such as leaning the unit over or locating a tiny object with which to coax each drawer out. Sometimes, you focus so long on the door being shut that the remedy never occurs to you. Maybe it’s not your door. I don’t know how many times I have been relieved that every desire of mine was not fulfilled.
The best part about experiencing disappointment is not only being forced to navigate the waters around it, but the part where you are changed forever. Your interior contents will never be the same, and you will never look at certain situations the same. You come out of it stronger, smarter, and sometimes, your guitar just feels less awkward. It starts to suit you, and you find comfort in its presence. And sometimes, that can be enough. Give God the credit He deserves for knowing what He does. It’s everything you don’t, and I’m actually really thankful for that.
God bless,
M
Blue Withens 