I recently rediscovered this great song by Caroline Arends (I listened to it almost daily the year I moved 2000 miles from home to go to college in Michigan):
“There’s a time I can recall
Four years old and three feet tall
Trying to touch the stars and the cookie jar
And both were out of reach”
I’ve obviously been recalling the memories of four-year old Tracy – she was definitely a reacher. Always wanting to be, and do more than what others told her was possible. Four year old Tracy would’ve definitely been reaching for cookies (and she had the thunder thighs to prove it;), but she was always reaching for the stars too. I can’t remember exactly what age I was when I first decided that there was a great big world beyond the potholes and bathroom mushrooms of Robinson Drive, but I was determined to take it by storm. I was determined to keep reaching. I always knew there was more. I STILL do.
“We are reaching for the future
We are reaching for the past
And no matter what we have we reach for more
We are desperate to discover
What is just beyond our grasp
But maybe that’s what Heaven is for”
I’ve always been reaching for the future, sometimes to the detriment of the present (that “human condition” again). My reaching for the past has simply been a way of making sense of it all and giving my past a voice. I’m not unpacking and taking up camp in the past. I’m not allowing it to hold me there and keep me small. I’m simply acknowledging the losses and the scars. I’ve been reaching for healing, so to speak. And healing brings a sense of peace within our grasp, so I’m a big fan of making peace with whatever holds you back. Not dealing with the past doesn’t change it, or make it go away.
Most recently, I’ve been reaching for feeling/being healthy. I’ve been missing in action for the last few days because the cough that took me to Urgent Care last weekend, got the better of me this week. It’s been absolutely brutal. I’ve settled in to write every night, and I’ve literally fallen asleep on my laptop. I have at least a dozen drafts floating around in the fog of my chest cold coma. Today, I barely made it out of bed (the sicker than a dog struggle bus;). So I’m reaching for feeling “normal” again (whatever that is;). In the meantime, I’m thinking of what (besides coughing) gets in the way of my current reaching. And how about you – what would you be reaching for if the fear of failing wasn’t getting in the way?