Simon and Garfunkel sing a song wherein many of the lyrics seem to fit me. ‘I am a rock, I am an island.’ I do want to cry-sometimes. I do feel pain-sometimes. I know, however, I have to be that rock and island. I have to be the strong one. Alone and facing the storm. I am a cynic when it comes to relationships, anyway. Which makes it hard to accept real time caring. I do a great deal of reading and some of writing, creating worlds of my own. Yet, when it comes down to it, the rock and island are me.
I do have some good friends and a spouse and kids. Yet, they have their own lives, I’m not really a part of theirs. I am the tide waters on the edges of their personal lands. Splashing against their shores, playing on their banks, and slipping back into the harbor around my own island. I get it, I really do. It is just the way life works. I am grateful for the moments when I can be a part of those other lives, I selfishly crave them. I often hoard golden moments to slide through my fingers in the vault on my rock. Living vicariously through the past, being thankful when my present collides with another’s. Knowing those moments are a part of me now and understanding when they shift with life tides.
I used to be more sheltered on my rock. I was so damn afraid to touch another’s shores. I was bound by convention, the way I was raised, and knew I was supposed to act a certain way. I sometimes escape, but it isn’t real. It can’t be. I need to remember to be the diamond stone which shines and stands firm. Giving my strength to others and not crumbling if part of my island moves a bit. Pulling myself up by my own bootstraps, putting on those big girl panties, and holding hard onto my teddy bear. Making the decisions for myself and my mum. Hoping they are the right ones. Hoping no one will blast my island if they are wrong. Because most rocks don’t float and I don’t have an escape plan.