On Permanence

BrockaRelationships, WorkLeave a Comment

Piecing some of today together. Having just returned from brunch, I admire how conversations with friends dive deep immediately. We discuss permanence; whether to stay or go. 

I’ve always scoffed at permanence. Having to choose a tattoo sounds like punishment. The thought of not being able to change my mind feels suffocating. I’ve even found myself unfollowing people on twitter simply because they make blanket, dogmatic personal statements; as if there can be no deviation; as if generalities don’t exist. We get too locked in. Sometimes we get complacent.  

Yet here I am in the city I’ve lived my entire life. We grow up and everything old no longer fits. It becomes too tight and too stifling. So why linger in a place that doesn’t have a place for me any longer? It feels mentally discouraging in the short term and as detrimental to my growth in the long term; like staying in an abusive relationship, apparently.  

I’ve lived other places for short periods of time, but the only reason I never permanently left Dallas was because of my mother. It was never about her health, but our relationship. She meant the world to me. The entire time I grew up, I always knew in the back of my mind the hardest thing I could ever endure would be losing her. And now that I’m a year+ out and on the other side of it, I see I can survive anything. I can go anywhere. I can try anything new. I can fail and recover. I have already survived my biggest fear. 

When I was getting ready for brunch this morning, I changed out the earrings I was wearing at the last minute. Rushing, I dropped the tiny metal back to one and didn’t bother spending time on the bathroom tile searching it out. I simply thought, it’ll show up shortly. I remembered how my mother had an extra little cubby in her jewelry box for backs to earrings. They always go missing or fall out somehow. Have extras. 

I’m always carrying my phone around with me to listen in on the podcast playing. And in the tidying before departure, up and down the stairs, consolidating the trash from the bathrooms into the larger one, I finally sat my phone down face up on the kitchen counter while I tied up the larger kitchen trash. Put it by the front door; washed my hands; assembled things and myself. Ready to go, I went back to grab my phone, and the earring back was sitting on top of my phone screen. Just there. I stared at it for a moment. It caught my breath.  

I know my mother is with me. I also know it is ok to move on.  

BrockaOn Permanence

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