Last night I packed a dream into a $13.99 plastic bin that I picked up at the Container Store. I know it was the right thing to do. It was the only thing I could do. Leaving little reminders of what might have been all around my house did nothing but sadden me. I probably should have packed things up months ago, but I’ve been holding on to that dream, thinking that maybe, just maybe, it would come alive again. Yesterday I had a most vivid realization that it won’t.
So today, this first day of July, I try again to look forward. The last 24 hours have been harder than I expected. Over the last nine months, I’ve had moments where I felt strong and moments where I felt completely broken. I’ve had days when I couldn’t imagine what would come next and days when I was determined to build a future that I would want. I’ve made a point of traveling and racing and scheduling more travel. I have focused a great deal on training, which has paid off and helped me feel stronger physically and mentally. Just this past Saturday, I felt so hopeful. Then a hard reality sank in, and I’m back to being raw. I think of those geometry toys that are interconnected collapsible links that you can build into shapes and then with one pull, you can collapse them again into a pile of sticks. Some moments I’m a pretty shape and some moments I’m the pile of sticks.
As much as I’d like to crawl into that plastic bin and sleep the day away with all those little things that I still love, I can’t. I won’t. I will work. I will swim and run after work. And I will trust that life really is wise, even when I don’t understand it.