So here goes. I might end up having to stop before I finish a though, but I guess that’s part of the challenge of this thing.
I’m learning that brokenness can be beautiful.
Not in the pretty wrapped-up present sort of way, but in the tragic kind of way that a Van Gogh painting is beautiful, or how you feel when the sun sets on one of the best days you’ve ever had, and you don’t want the sun to set because then the day will be over, but it’s so beautiful at the same time and you want it to keep setting.
When I was in high school, I feared brokenness. I wanted to have everything put together so nicely. I wanted things to fall into place well. I wanted everything under control and wrapped up nice and neat. Maybe my room was messy, but hey, everything else was tidy and under control. I think that’s the only way I could deal with my anxiety—I buried it deep down somewhere and covered it up with tidiness, perfectionism, and trying to be everything to everyone. I just didn’t want to let anyone down.
And I guess that all changed when I realized how broken I was. And I realized that maybe being broken was just part of being human and wasn’t actually something to hide. But I also realized that in order to really be okay in my brokenness, I was going to have to be okay with letting people down. With not doing everything perfectly. With crying in front of people. I’d have to deal with my anxiety. I’d have to face my parents’ poor health and acknowledge the emotions I felt when I saw them hurt. I’d have to confront my insecurities instead of swallowing them.
If nothing else, this past year has been one of brokenness. But it’s also been a really beautiful one. Yeah, kind of like a Van Gogh painting, I guess. Freakishly like one, actually. But —
Every Friday, join the blogosphere for five minutes of free-writing on a single-world prompt, and watch where the Muse takes you. Find out more about Five-Minute Fridays here.