August 9, 2017

Cracks and Light

by Cynthia Gunnells

As someone who arranges words into tightly-wrapped stories with neatly-resolved endings, I can’t seem to grasp hold of my own narrative. The wild uncertainty and untamed frenzy of my mind is beginning to sprout up through cracks in my otherwise perfect façade.

Those with good instincts may catch a glimpse before it’s swiftly tucked back where it belongs, but it’s always there just beneath the surface – a churning storm gaining strength with every task undone, every feeling neglected, every path unexplored. Often the restlessness creeps up to choke out my joy, but I swallow it back down pretending it’s not there. Except it is. And it’s getting harder to ignore.

I’ve hidden my scars for so long that I didn't even remember they existed. But the more I expose them, the more comfortable they become.

Middle age finds me standing at a crossroads reflecting on all I’ve experienced – people I’ve loved, places I’ve been, goals I’ve accomplished – and curious about all I still have to do. The once fearless girl who tackled the first leg of the race with a brazen naivety is meandering through the second half, careful not to lose all that she’s gained along the way. 

The race against time is daunting, and I hate to run. So thankfully I’m able to reconcile my head with my heart and exercise those scars onto the page for the world to consume.

My cracks are abundant and I am learning to love them. After all, cracks are how the light gets in.