“‘…and you― for a year you’ved lived with your heart’s draining…’ Samuel struck him with a work-heavy fist, and Adam sprawled out in the dust. Samuel asked him to rise and when Adam accepted struck him again, and this time Adam did not get up. He looked stonily at the menacing old man.
Adam wore a faraway yet intent look, as though he were listening to some wind-carried music, but his eyes were not dead as they had been. He said, ‘it’s hard to imagine I’d thank a man for insults and for shaking me out like a rug. But I’m grateful. It’s a hurty thanks, but it’s thanks.'”*
I laid in bed Wednesday night dreaming dreams for my future, wondering what those dreams would look like in reality. Earlier in the evening I had been going through my Instagram feed looking for a photo to share with one of my friends. As I looked at all my old pictures I noticed something. I noticed how alive I used to be. How I noticed the color of grass or a ripe watermelon. How I used to be joyful.
Lying in bed dreaming these dreams and thinking back over the pictures I used to take, I was suddenly hit with the depth of my deadness. I’ve lived the last 15-16 months as if I were dead. Hope gone. Dreams not dared to be dreamed. Courage an ocean I did not want to stick my feet in.
It’s easy to live dead. To lose sight of the beauty in life. To give up on yourself and your future.
I’m tired of living as if I am dead. So I’m making the decision to live the way I am. Alive, blood pumping through these veins, a heart that needs to dream of her future. Lungs that inhale & exhale. Eyes that long to see and experience beauty.
I’m not sure how exactly I begin living again except making the decision to do so. To take off these burial clothes I’ve strangled myself with and rinse off the scent of myrrh. To with as small steps as I need, to exit the tomb I’ve resided in.
Upon making this decision, I felt like the first of ready to fly feathers is being added to my wings. Some days I don’t feel ready to fly, or like I even can, but it’s encouraging to see at least my wings begin to grow.
I feel like Adam Trask of East of Eden after Samuel Hamilton punched him. The feeling and discovery of the grey scales falling from eyes and life being seen, and realizing just how dead you’ve been living and how much more life is out there.
*Excerpt from East of Eden by John Steinbeck