A Letter To Someone I Do Not Know

I read your words.

I know the pain. I know the fatigue, the doubt, the worry.

If I told you it will all go away, would you believe me?

And would telling you that some how not honor the feelings that encompass you right now?

So instead, I will tell you a story.

We bought a lake house seven years ago. At first it was an albatross, the entire place, inside and out needed to be completely gutted and remodeled. There was no relaxing there.

Oh the work.

It was physically exhausting ripping off layers of siding, pulling out windows, removing all the doors.

It was emotionally exhausting knowing most of our net worth was tied up in a house that was uninhabitable and to the eyes of most, a complete ruin.

But we kept on.

We worked room by room and eventually, two years after the purchase, we were done.

What was once a burden is now a sanctuary.

And one of my favorite ways to spend my time at the lake, now that I can go there to relax rather than work, is to go down to the dock, by myself, and just sit and look at the water.

One day while fully engaged in dock sitting, I looked at the dam which is to the south of our place and saw how, as dams are meant to do, it stops the water. It ends. There is no more water beyond. Or at least, at dock level, it appears so.

What if this was the only view I knew?

What if it was my only perspective?

But I am a pilot, and I have seen the lake, the dam and the river beyond.

I know, with just the perspective of a few thousand feet of altitude brings, the entire view changes and I can see what I could not see from the dock.

Suddenly, what did not exist, exists.

And it is beautiful.

It reminds me that the river, like life, flows on, to wonderful places I cannot yet see.

And with an altitude greater than I will ever achieve in an airplane or in life, I would see that this little land-locked river ultimately joins the vastness of the open sea.

Eventually, everything connects.

This awareness of perspective illustrated to me how I am part of a vastness I cannot see.

I cannot see the biggest picture, even the bigger picture. With my dock view, I can only see a tiny segment of all that is.

But just because I cannot see the biggest picture does not mean it is not there, it is, just like the water beyond the dam.

So, outrunningthestorm, remember what you see now is from a dock view and in moments of need, to cope, to get you through, know you too are a pilot and that you can takeoff in an airplane in your mind. You can change your perspective with a gain in mental altitude, some distance from the present moment, and see there is indeed so much more, and this will work out, and it will be beautiful.

You can read outrunningthestorm’s post here.

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4 Responses

  1. You are so right about perspective. So much of dealing with my son is about me changing me. But, the aggression…… It’s just so hard. I know you know and seeing how Teddy got through it even then, there is the voice in my head that says ‘but that doesn’t mean Charlie will….’ though again, that is all about me and my “stuff”. Thank you for sharing all that you do. I do take a lot of comfort in seeing someone so much like my son years down the road.

    • Remember to be patient with yourself. I am 16 plus years into this. That’s a long time. :-) But I just know you and Charlie are going to be okay. Your heart shows so clearly in your writing and anyone who reads your blog knows you are doing all the right things.

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