It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written anything, and I hope you haven’t broken up with me. If you did, let’s get back together, or can we at least just have this brief discussion in honor of the hardship that has been 2020??…….
What do we do when our life is on fire? When Comfort and Security are burning?
My solution is to get some water. Real fast. I pour it on the fire in a panic, and I keep pouring until all is well again. I did this many times in my childhood when my brother went through a pyromaniac phase that was mainly focused on my notebooks and Barbie dolls. (He’s found Jesus now, and lives a semi-normal life).
I’ve always used water. I’ve always fought the fire.
But last year I read a story about a woman who stood outside her rural country home in the middle of the night, watching it burn to the ground. She had awoken around midnight to the smell of smoke, and discovered that the living room curtains were on fire. She panicked at first, turning to the right and left, trying to decide what to do. But then suddenly, she stopped, and became calm. She went back into her bedroom, put her shoes on, scooped up the cat, and walked out of her house for the very last time. She never called for help.
A neighbor down the road saw the light of the fire through his bedroom window and called in the emergency. By the time firefighters arrived, it was too late, and there was seemingly nothing left of the house but a pile of ashes and pieces of metal.
The next morning, the neighbor woke early and drove down the road to the scene. He could see the woman, standing knee-deep in ashes sorting through the rubble. He planned to console her over the loss of her home, assuming her lack of action the night before was a result of panic and fear. But as he approached, he heard her shout out in complete joy as she pulled a black box from the pile.
And that was when she told him the story. She had been a hoarder for years. Collecting all manner of things: Tupperware, decorations, clothes, and bags. After nearly 3 decades, her home was so full of items that she could barely maneuver her way through the hallways, or find a clean place to sit and relax. While the items brought her a sense of stability and comfort, the disease had caused her to lose some of her most valuable possessions. Years ago, she had purchased a firesafe box, and filled it with the most important tokens of her life… A letter from her mother before she died, her college diploma, a receipt from the first time she bought groceries with her own money, the hairpin she wore on her wedding day, and an envelope containing $35,000 in cash.
Through the years she had made concerted attempts at finding the box, but always gave up after hours of searching. On the night of the fire, she stood in front of the burning curtains and had the sudden realization that in order to get to what mattered most, she would need to allow everything else around her burn.
Most of the population would call that stupidity. But I feel like there’s a solid 2% of us that would take that story and cheer for it. Because the truth is, it takes an insane amount of strength and courage to let good and comfortable burn, for the hope of finding great and meaningful in the ashes. Most people don’t do it because it’s scary as hell.
I’ve been a water-getter my whole life until a few months ago. And then, a certain area of my world caught on fire for the millionth time, and I don’t know what happened…..I just decided to let it go.
It’s literally the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.
I thought I would be like that woman, standing boldly outside her home in the middle of the night, smiling at the flames….maybe laughing wickedly. But I’m the opposite of that. I took this picture of myself a few days ago when things were feeling particularly rough, because someday I’m going to think back on this and be reminded of just how stale and un-heroic brave endeavors can look. I’m going to think back and remember how the smoke from the fire made my eyes tired and watery for weeks….even months. I’m going to remember how I cried most mornings when I was in the shower, and how I could only muster a half-assed job with my make-up. I’ll remember falling behind on the laundry and how my kids said, “When are you ever going to cook an actual meal in the OVEN again?!” I’m always going to look at this picture and remember exactly what was going on in my life when I was letting things burn.
Someday there might come a point when you decide to stop doing what you’ve always done. You’ll recognize your hoard for what it is, and you’ll miss seeing the wildly sacred pieces of yourself, and you’ll decide to let things get uncomfortable and ugly for a while. You’ll cry. And your make-up will suck. And your kids will eat those single-serve mac-n-cheese cups out of the microwave for 3 straight days.
You’ll be the 2% who the masses won’t understand, and almost nobody will clap for you.
Do it anyway. It’s a decision worth making. It’s worth enduring until the smoke clears and you can start searching through the ashes for what you lost track of long ago. And when you find it, that will be a story worth telling.
And I don’t know about you, but I refuse to be an 85-year-old woman without a significant story to tell.
Let it burn.
I’m clapping for you.