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The other day I watched some ridiculously random, stupid movie: 13 Going On 30.
And I cried.
Wait. I cried more than once.
And what’s really pissing me off about that is that I was crying because I thought of my Swan.
I’ve been carrying a hurt in my heart for some time now. The “hurt” is a residual effect of an event that transpired some time ago now – over a year ago. It’s not something I care to share with the world at large, so you will have to forgive me and allow me some room to ponder and develop my thoughts without divulging them in intricate detail this one time. I know it seems uncharacteristic of me – but there actually are things I choose not to talk about here, out of love and respect for others. That is the case with this current topic. And while I have no need to lay all the pieces before you, I feel hugely moved, if only momentarily, to talk about the hurt. I think I’ve been denying the full effects that hurt has had on me, emotionally and spiritually. I’ve been cramming that hurt into a box that I taped shut, painted black, mashed flat, folded into an Origami Swan and then shoved down inside my heart.
Whenever I bump into it by accident, I just quickly say to myself, “Ohhh, hahahaha (that’s quick, nervous, fake laughter) – there’s a pretty swan! Tee-hee!” and then I shove it back down and RUN AWAY.
Sometimes, when I’m all alone, I take the Swan out and I unfold it carefully. In true masochistic form, I peel back the corners of the box and I look inside. I pull the hurt out and I hold it up close to my face and look at it really, really hard. I inspect it. I see how ugly the hurt is. Sometimes I just nod, because I know it is ugly; I remember clearly.
But a lot of times I tremble, because I forget a little bit that it is as hideous as it is, and when I look at it so closely again, I am forcefully reminded. I have a little, frayed string of hope running around in my heart attached to the Swan. It’s the faint hope that the longer I wait the less ugly the hurt will look when I inspect it.
One year has not been long enough yet. So I keep waiting and absently wrapping that string around my finger over and over and over again.
But the movie? Why did it make me think of my Swan? There’s a line, “We need to remember the things that were good.”
That’s what I want to do. I want to stop inspecting my hurt. I really want to just let it go.
I need to learn how to release all of the Swans I’ve ever folded… learn how to let them float away on an eternal river of goodbyes that never returns to its source, ever flowing outward and away.
Why do we cling to hurt and often find it easier to focus on than joy?
Why is it so hard to let go of our Swans?
Or am I the only one?