A little snapping, stretching, cracking is good for the soul

Sometimes the most beautiful thing to watch is something unraveling, the process of becoming undone.

Some unfortunate souls see it as, “Dang! Now I have to start all over! The work I put in is now GONE!”

My kids experienced this a number of times this week on their beaded necklace rampages. Not paying attention, they occasionally allowed dozens of beads to escape the safe route of the cord and tick, tick, tick on the floor.

“It’s okay. Pick it up. Start over,” I offered in deadpan encouragement while consumed by the colorful specks in contrast to our gray, imitation stone tile floor.

In another multiverse (thank you, Wandavision), I would have dumped the whole organizer of 1800 or so beads to the floor to soak in the melody of snapping ticks and observe the firework display of color. And, if I had nothing pressing on my schedule, I would pick each one up in gratitude, a form of therapy. (In another multiverse, I would have despised myself for my idiot actions.)

So I’m weird. When something is broken or has a rip in it, I enjoy pushing the infraction farther to watch the integrity break down. Snapping threads, elastic stretched to the limit, the cracking of plastic, springs unraveled against order.

I hope I’m like this on my journey in writing.

What if I bring up the bad parts of the memory to jog my brain into accuracy?

If I let this memory unravel, what scary insights will flourish?

If I explore this unassuming path, could I end up at a shocking detour?

I love creative nonfiction — “True stories. Well told.” I love telling my stories — memoir, slice-of-life, personal essay. I’ve written fiction, but I can’t imagine how drawing out emotions, filling in settings, and analyzing conflict could be more painful, rewarding, and exhausting when you aren’t the main character.

With that, I’m looking forward to the ripping band-aid that writing offers as I sit on the cusp of March, my birthday month. I will draw out my brain and heart and craft more pieces for submission, set up my landing page for my “Crafting a Personal Liturgy” Guide & Worksheet, and continue working on my very disjointed memoir.

I also have to make decisions about life “maintenance.” Am I going to finish my Master’s or keep the title of “seminary dropout”? If I don’t register for a class this summer, I would have to reapply, I think.

Emotionally, I am doing really well, but my husband thinks I too easily isolate myself. (Hello, I am a writer! Who works outside the home! With kids! My personal time is very limited! That’s why I love traveling alone! What does he know anyway?!)

So I need to figure out what relationships I should pursue with my limited time. Maybe my counselor can help with this; I’m probably due for a “check-up” anyway.

Oh, splendid unraveling! Lord, let it come to a reawakening and focused action instead of an opportunity for me to go on and on about myself or a way to entertain others. It really brings great joy to make my counselor laugh though.

Earlier this week, I got a chuckle out of my dentist who probably thinks I’m delusional.