Today we discussed distractions. Those little things in your life that are good, but take away from the one thing that could make you great. For example, I am reconstructing a jacket right now, I find it fascinating, ripping apart each seam, writing my name all over this old jacket. And I am learning, but could I be spending my time better elsewhere?
Sometimes I am not even sure what ‘elsewhere’ is though, and I can only see what is front of me. My mom was cleaning out the closets and she found this old jacket of mine that I had never worn. It was right in front of me. If I didn’t reclaim it now, it either would have been sent to goodwill or shoved in my closet for another decade.
Elsewhere.
I had my fingers of my right hand wrapped around my large coffee mug, just under handle; my left hand was breaking a popsicle stick in my lap into a million pieces. My dad was talking. I moved the little popsicle stick pieces to the book on my lap and started pushing them around with my index finger. He was being so open and honest.
He even said the word “Bragadacious.”
Whatever that means.
At one point, I looked down at the little wooden pieces in my lap, arranged in a neat little pile. I looked at the coffee mug. My mind said, grab the pieces, throw them in the coffee and drink it. You will be healed. My arm resisted. My brain thought it over again and decided it probably wasn’t the best idea.
Wait. What was he saying?
I looked at his eyes. Full of water. Full of water. Maybe not so full, but I could tell. They were shinier than normal, and his eyebrows were a little higher than normal.
My children.
My job.
My life.
I look out the sliding glass door and I see field mice playing. A hummingbird is hovering above the roses.
And it’s gone.
My hands my hands my hands.
I wanted to hug him and say, “Look. You are here. And you are giving me something beautiful right now,” but there were heads between us. He was talking of his fortunes and his regrets. How he felt purpose in his job, but regretted not being at home more.
“I was in my office one evening, and this man was talking to me about how hurt he was as a child because his father was never around. Thirty years later, this man was in counseling for this past wound. And all I could think about was my children at home, laughing with their mother, but not with me.”
“But you were there!” I screamed in my head the rebuttal. My mouth swallowed, “How can I make him understand that?”
So I just went back to the house.
I see some of the most beautiful things everyday. Each night, I go to sleep and forget them. Is this a tangent? Is what I am writing a distraction, or is it my purpose?
My dad gives and gives, and he is great at his job and as a father.
How do I find this?
Where is my elsewhere?
Fabulous.