--Unknown
The last month or so has seen a lot of bricks in my backpack. Sadly, I'm one of those people who usually whines first and yanks on the bootstraps later. (Working on that.) But somewhere in the beginning of all of this, I found myself on my knees. I found myself asking for a stronger back, for just enough to see things through, for enough hope to keep at it. And today I feel a little stronger.
Oh, I've thrown a few fits, shed more tears than I like to admit, and seriously doubted if I could handle one more day of lugging. I don't know what tomorrow, next week, or even next year will bring, but I feel like I might be able to shoulder more than I thought. Strange that.
Some of life's bricks aren't really bricks. They're little things, daily responsibilities to handle (like getting one of my kids to do his homework). Some other bricks are more like boulders and not as easily shed. And some weights I think I might have to carry for a long time.
But a new thought struck me. Sometimes my backpack is heavier because I try to carry it alone. I don't ask for help--not much. That isn't to say I don't ever lean on others. (I'm pretty sure my husband has developed a limp from all of the times I lean against him.) I just usually don't ask anyone to help me carry my cares. Many times, I pretend like I don't even own a backpack.
"Things are great! Thanks for asking."
"Nope, we're good. Not much going on with us."
"Thanks, I appreciate that. Is there anything I can do for you?"I don't claim to always act this way. If you've read my blog for very long, you know I tend to talk often about my concerns. But generally I try to spin a positive attitude, express gratitude, or reflect the positive outcomes of those moments. I try to, at least. But if I'm going to be honest, sometimes I outright lie about my "invisible" backpack. (Wow. The irony in that sentence makes my head swim.)
There are, and have been, people in my life I've shared my cares with. Some of them have been remarkably patient, understanding, and supportive. I'm not an easy person to know, and I admit that I have a cargo-train's worth of baggage. That's something I consider, in large part, to be the reason the list of people "in the know" is so short.
Another reason is that I've been burned pretty badly. I think everyone has at one point or another. Sometimes we misplace our trust. Sometimes we jump the gun. Sometimes people aren't what we thought they were. Sometimes, something is just too much. And like anyone who's put their fingers too close to the fire, I've learned to keep my hand to myself.
But today, I'm wondering if keeping away from the fire is also keeping me away from warmth. What if shunning the flame is just leaving me out in the dark? One of my favorite country songs is by Garth Brooks and is also the title of this post.*
We call them cool
Those hearts that have no scars to show
The ones that never do let go
And risk the tables being turned
We call them foolsI never thought I was one of those people, calling people fools for risking it all. I always thought I championed people like that. In my heart, I do root for them. But somewhere along the way, I stopped being one of those people willing to risk the flame. I stopped, I flinched, I stepped away. I began to see only the destruction wrought instead of how life-giving fire can be.
Who have to dance within the flame
Who chance the sorrow and the shame
That always comes with getting burned
Why is it so hard to just say it? I need help. I need a friend. I'm having a hard time doing this alone. Have I been so afraid of the heat that I'm missing out on the ring of people circling the pit? Some of the world's best stories have been told around campfires. As a storyteller myself, isn't it just so wrong that I'm purposely staying away from that? Is it really living if I'm standing out on the fringes?
Life is not tried, it is merely survived if you're standing outside the fireI wonder if maybe I ought to be willing to admit I have a backpack. A good friend doesn't just help carry your burdens--they also help you set them down and keep you walking onward. And, I think, a really good friend lets you return the favor. But a friend can't do any of these things if you don't let them in.
These are the thoughts rolling around in my head today. I'm not anticipating a full-on bonfire anytime soon. But I do wonder if there isn't something inside of me, telling me that I'm not content to live life this way. That I'm not made for hiding. That sometimes the risk is worth the fear.
There's this love that is burningMaybe it's time I took a risk.
Deep in my soul
Constantly yearning to get out of control
Wanting to fly, higher and higher
I can't abide
Standing outside the fire
Until next time,
L.T.
*Italicized stanzas and post title from Garth Brook's Standing Outside the Fire
8 comments:
I like your new design!
I think it's hard to admit we have a backpack when we're online because we know there's not much people can do besides show support (which is often easily faked). It's hard to actually do anything when you're not even in the same state. But oh, wait! I live by you! your house is down the street. LOL. Let me know if you ever need anything. One of these days we really should hang out. Even if it's just to go to lunch or something.
I like the new design, too! Very striking and pretty.
I know for me, the fear of appearing weak keeps me from saying anything. There's the feeling that I'm the only one with problems, or even that my problems really aren't that bad in comparison, so I shouldn't even be struggling with them.
I love your line: "Sometimes the risk is worth the fear." Maybe it's time I took a risk, too. :)
I've been thinking a lot about backpacks myself, lately, and backs being strengthened, as I just took on a boulder sized brick recently. And I was told, initially, I couldn't talk about it.
I was shocked at how much I depend on the people circling the pit when I was told I couldn't depend on them any more. It was like getting an arm cut off.
I hope that God does strengthen your back. I hope that you can reach out. It is a risk, but not having it is worse. And I think you know that.
You are loved...by more than just me.
(And yet, I feel hollow for even saying that because what have I done to show that love? Retreated into my shell trying to deal with my own backpack? Never making time? Seems like a rather empty thing to say.
This is one of those things that I've been contemplating lately. I do love people, and I'm hurt when they don't love me back, but I also realize that I'm not so good at doing the little things that let them know I want them to be part of my life, that no relationship can survive without those things. I'm being taught that the hard way.)
I also love one of the above commenters thoughts about the guilt that comes along with feeling like I shouldn't feel bad about my life because other people have it harder. It hampers my sharing sometimes.
Love these thoughts. Love you. Love the way you inspire growth in me by sharing your own.
I struggle with the same fears, the same shying away from the warmth of the fire. And I can't help thinking my backpack is pretty light compared to yours (I have room for some of your rocks - I'd love to help you carry some for awhile). That tells me that the fear isn't as much about the weight we carry as it is about our experiences with the fire. How often have we been burned, by people how close to us . . . and that's where it gets hard for me. The level of trust that was there before the burning . . .
One of the things I love most about ''us'' is that I don't fear that from you. That's the gift you are to me. You teach me in each and every interaction we have, how beauteous the warmth of the fire is. You invite me into the circle and you help mute some of my fear. I am so grateful to you for that.
I wonder how many people feel like you. I know I do. I'm supposed to keep everything looking like roses. It's my job. And lately I have felt like if I let someone see how full my backpack is, they will be annoyed. It's not their backpack.
But I think you're brave. It's hard to let people in. You know you can trust your husband, but when life is hard, how do you know for sure who won't shun your bricks?
I think it's time we bought a wagon. Hitch it up to some horses and all of us throw our bricks in the back. Or a hand cart. Because some things were meant to carry together.
A day with you in my reader is a day I am going to feel some kind of connection with a blog friend...
Listen, I also have a super hard time showing vulnerabilities and asking for help. My husband and my best friend are the two I can come right out and bare my soul to, but I can't even cry in front of my parents. What is wrong with me? I am the oldest. I am a friend to the friendless (not to toot my horn, but I feel some kind of duty there), and I plow through. This is something I need to work on so that it doesn't slip into pride.
"Thanks, I appreciate that. Is there anything I can do for you?" You have said those exact words to me!
When my mom died, we found this poem in her paperwork along with a request. She asked that we read it at her funeral, and then try to live by it. She felt she had risked nothing and so ... had nothing. Was nothing. She wasn't strong enough to change herself during her lifetime, but maybe she could help us embrace a little risk.
I've gone on to live my life as if this poem were my standard. Think about it ... Then TEXT ME SO WE CAN GO OUT FOR LUNCH!!!
Risks
To laugh is to risk appearing the fool.
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.
To reach out to another is to risk involvement.
To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self.
To place your dreams, ideas before a crowd is to risk their loss.
To love is risk not being loved in return.
To live is to risk dying.
To hope is to risk despair.
To try is to risk failure.
But risks must be taken, because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.
The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, and is nothing.
They may avoid suffering and sorrow, but they cannot learn, feel, change, grow, love, live.
Chained by their certitudes, they are a slave: they have forfeited their freedom.
Only a person who risks is truly free.
– Anonymous
I just drafted a long (and unprintable) post about friendship, about how I see myself vs. others, about expectations. And you make me want to make it printable, because you do such a good job of connecting me with your ideas.
Also, I get it that sometimes you can't open the backpack and let someone see what's in there. It's a scary place sometimes. I get that. I don't even want to look inside my own backpack very often. Carrying it is hard enough.
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