Finding our metaphor

She was born an ocean, all calm philosophy and turbulent contention. He was born a dormant volcano, tall, majestic and strong, with fire stewing in his core, never released and never changing. Tectonic plates shifted, time wore and brought them together, and her waves lapped against his secure exterior, attempting to wear down the battlements and coax the core.

This is how mythology is born, isn’t it? Finding in our own stories of triumph and loss, of heartsick sorrow and joy, connections to the terrifyingly elating splendor of the natural world around us. Everyone has metaphors. They may change their whole lives through, or they may be the same with only subtle changes over the course of their lives.

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“And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good.” – Steinbeck

Sometimes these quotes (invariably from Steinbeck. I feel like this is not coincidental) just sneak up on me, having read them long ago, they somehow have lodged themselves in my brain and rise up when they’re most relevant. This one has been cropping up on a regular basis for the last week or so. It’s so so good for so many reasons.

Your birthday

Tomorrow is your birthday. This day last year we celebrated your twenty fifth. We ate at our favorite breakfast place (ALRIGHT) with some of our friends, and then returned home to prepare to have people over to eat and drink and celebrate you.

This week of the year will always be yours. Forever. I can’t imagine even fifty years from now hitting June 3rd and not pausing for at least a few minutes to think of you and remember us. There’s been a lot that’s been shitty in the last four months, a lot that’s been hard in the past eight, and a lot that’s been difficult in the last two years.

I’ve been so mad at you for so many things. None of it really matters. I’ve been mad at myself. We’re still tied together in some capacity even for as much as both of us try to break those ties; they’re going to take time to dissipate. I see how you’re acting now. And I know it’s hurt. And I know it’s fear. And I know it’s confusion and disorientation. And yet, the more you sink into those things, somehow, the angrier I get with myself, that I could have ever had faith in you to be anything other than who you are now.

But that’s not fair, or true or right.

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