I have a friend who advises, when we are faced with a dark period in life, that we “look for the little golden threads – the small things that bring a smile.”
I understand how a person could grab ahold of their golden threads and use them as a lifeline.
The thing is, I have always had so many golden threads…a beautifully woven tapestry of them, in fact.
Then one day, the tapestry began to unravel.
(I knew it would.)
Throughout my twenties, I often had this dark foreboding thought that my adult life was sure to be fraught with painful experiences. This nagging bit of intuition was quite at odds with my generally positive outlook. I have been referred to as “Pollyanna” on more than one occasion. My older brother’s friends took to calling me “Sunshine” after overhearing my fourth grade teacher referring to me as such. Many of them still call me that, (several) decades later.
I have never been the gloom-and-doom type.
Nevertheless I had this quietly simmering fear that because everything during my upbringing had been somewhat idyllic – so free of real angst, that surely life was saving up to wallop me. After all, “into each life some rain must fall” and I seemed to have experienced nary a sprinkle.
So there I stood, holding this beautifully woven tapestry of golden threads…a privilege I was certain I had never truly earned.
When it began to unravel, I remained calm.
I patched it, and I sewed it, and I fastened knots to hold it together.
Yet, despite my love for each and every golden thread, I couldn’t keep them from unraveling.
Today I feel as though I am laying here in a pool of loose threads. I still recognize their beauty, but I can’t help but to despair at the state they are in. I run the damaged bits of silky cloth through my fingers, lifting them to gently caress my cheek nostalgically.
How did my tapestry unravel so completely?
I want it back…desperately.
Yet…I can never recreate the tapestry I had before, for some of the most important threads are missing, or have been forever changed.
Still, I know…when I am ready (which I’m afraid is not today)…I must gather up my golden threads, even the frayed and knotted bits (for they are often, in the end, the most beautiful), and I will weave them into something exquisite.
And this time I will know for sure that I have earned it.