The one that calls to me is a take off -- "go to the books." Whenever I go to the books, I'm surprised, astounded even, and renewed.
Last night I went to the books, and came away with wisdom.
I was finishing Marisa de los Santos FALLING TOGETHER, which I highly recommend, and came across a scene that clicked everything I've been struggling with (in one aspect of my life) together.
In this scene, one of the characters is talking about how a secondary character (who feels like one of the protagonists) had a miscarriage in a grocery store. After the miscarriage, the character couldn't step foot in a supermarket, going so far as to order in groceries, giving up the ability to enjoy her fresh bananas, and having to settle for the delivery of riper, stringier ones. You know, when you peel the banana and there's a string stalking the fruit?
This scene shimmered. Rising up from the story, and settling over my own reality. Because I've been that girl. Here's something, something very me, and very much a personal tidbit.
I blamed the car for my miscarriages.
I didn't miscarry in one, or by one, or while one came racing towards me. But I had it in my head since my Granny suffered two miscarriages, she believed due to automobiles - traveling a certain miles on rickety transportation - that so did I. That the car, traveling outside my hometown over and over, had killed my babies.
Then I took it a step further. The cars weren't just baby killers, they were people killers, too. And if they killed my unborn children, I was surely next. The car became The Monster. One I ran, sprinted, and flew from.
Which isn't any way to live.
I'm not judging my line of reasoning. I won't say I was crazy, irrational, or being a total goober. But I know now that none of that matters. Losing babies sucks. But I believe in a higher power, and I don't think that higher power is my car.
I'm working on finding faith in myself, the world, and the ways of the Universe. It's getting better all the time, and I'm happy to be Paige on her Next Great Adventure.
Sometimes I don't like the questions, but I'm always interested in the answer. Sometimes the answer isn't what I wish it to be, but I'm always grateful for the resolution.
The books bring me escape. They offer refuge, insight, laughter, and returnable pockets of bliss. Yesterday they provided me with closure. What a magical art. I can't wait to discover what they bring next.