Pockets of Air

Today, I woke up with this in my head:

"You have to believe in something."
"I believe in myself."

My eyes popped open. I don't know if it was those words, or the fact that Stinky was meowing bloody murder for food, but I woke up.

In more ways than one.

I have carried a balloon of sadness with me for a long time. Longer than I can remember. Over the years, that balloon filled up, and brimmed, emptied, and filled again.

I have walked in the shadow of my failure, head down, eyes brimming. Defeat put her arms around me many times, as I trudged through life, feeling bereaved.

But I have another balloon. In this balloon, there is hope. Many times this balloon has filled up, overflowed, emptied, and refilled with its glow.

I have walked with my Guide, on streets filled with glowing snow, reflecting Christmas lights. We have strolled on warm pavements shimmering under the moon. He has put his arm around my shoulder, or my waist, holding me close, as I walked through life, feeling nurtured.

Today, I wake up knowing that those balloons and those figures are both a part of me. Part of who I am, and I accept them, but I am not them. I wake up to a new balance, I have never had before. I awake with a new assurance I have rarely, if ever experienced.

I am more than the sum of my experiences, more than the residue of my emotions, more than the creation of my thoughts. I am me, and I do believe in myself. This is why I designed the Two Balloons today. It depicts the balancing act we all have to achieve in life. It can get burdensome sometimes. At times, we want to lay down and give up. At others, we run ahead, our hair blowing in the wind, the balloons streaming behind us.

But always we are at the center. Whole, unaffected by the weather, observing, learning, growing.

Yesterday, I experienced a frustration, singular in its intensity and unique in its situation. We had a meeting with all the heads of department and the administration. Person after person, stubbornly refusing to move forward, to affect change, to look beyond the edge of their self-interest. Caged criticism, negative interpretation, self-aggrandizement, the need to control. At one point in the meeting, I actually said I felt like a salmon swimming upstream. Most heads jumped on board any lame proposal without thought, without discussion, nodding heads, lips puckered. I just could not keep silent. I had questions. I had issues. I had alternatives. The principal watched me like a hawk. I saw her. I felt like taking the little tangerines on the table and smacking them off their heads like ping pong balls.

I didn't do that.

When the meeting was over, I started to do that thing I always do. Self-deprecation. Self-defeat. Self-derision.

Then my real voice asked a simple question, "Why do you feel this way? What happened at the meeting that causes you to viciously attack yourself?"

I stopped, in shocked silence. Indeed, "WHY?"

I asked the questions few have the balls (pardon my slang) to ask, made the points few would even consider making, went against the "I am a good soldier, yes Mein Commandant, I will bend over even lower, whip me more" attitude.

These are the questions I asked, "How do you expect the staff to do that? Aren't you in effect asking for six new courses (that will be populated by an average of 4 students) for your department, when I had to sweat to get one.? You are asking us to take ten minutes every class to check agendas, on top of uniform, on top of everything else you want us to do? When are we to teach reading and writing?"

You get the gist of the stupidity I had to endure. The issue is, I did not fail myself, nor the people I was sent there to represent. Did I make myself a target? Most certainly. Did I make myself unpopular amongst most of my peers. Most definitely. Do I give a damn? Well no. Should it affect the way I feel, enough to fill the balloon with the sadness, and allow my shadow self to cackle in glee of my defeat? Hell, no.

Today, I will walk with the two balloons. They are perfectly balanced. I know the sorrow that can bring a tear to my eye. I know the hope that can put a spring in my step. I accept them. They belong to me. But they are not me. I am the one in the center, holding them, with a smile on my face.

I hope that your steps are steady and light, and that the balloons you balance float, buoying you, not burdening you.

Blessed be :)