So this post isn’t so craft-related. It’s people related. Since I see craft as one of the ways to connect with people and like exploring the ways people connect, it fit together in my head. (If you disagree, there are some lovely older posts about craft here. Go forth and explore!) Lately I’ve had some extra time on my hands as I’ve been doing a lot of driving alone in the car. It’s led me to rethink the paths I’ve taken in my life. It’s amazing how family emergencies can lead to these sorts of thoughts.

Somewhere in the middle of the Georgia swamps, I thought about growing up and not understanding why my body would revolt and freeze up sometimes. And it was weird, and I had no idea what was happening. Then later came depression, which is a bit like having a wet wool blanket over you at all times. It’s cumbersome, thick and somewhat stinky, but despite your best efforts, it’s still there. The worst part of it was how I related to people. There’s nothing strange about why I became a sociologist and a writer, as all those years I felt like an observer to everyone else’s life. I was in the room, at the table, in the kiss, holding hands, on the soccer field, I was everywhere. But at the same time, I often wasn’t there at all.

When you feel apart from everyone and watch your loved ones grow old together and your friends get married and children are born, all the happy joys of life, it’s as if you’re a stenographer not someone close. When it happens for over a decade you begin to wonder what the silver lining is. There was a pulse you were missing, a wall you had up, a barrier holding firm.

So you move and you travel and you search and search and search for a way through. You want to feel the touch, get the joke and move forward, too. And you worry about other people’s problems so you don’t have to feel your own. You get to see some really cool things and have lots of adventures! Even more importantly, you begin to forget that there’s a distance. Then you cool down a bit and stay in one place for a few years and begin to remember the distance and all the annoyance it’s caused.

Then one day, as you’re rushing down the highway trying to get to someone you care about, and navigating labyrinth hospital halls, and trying to find the right room among all the doors surrounding you, you realize. It’s not in the faces of the nurses or the other patients in the room. It’s on the face of the one you came to see, smiling to see you. And suddenly, you realize the wall isn’t there and you’re in the moment instead of just taking notes. And the moment, even though it’s in a hospital and scary in its reality, has a pulse and a beat…and not just the ones emanating from the machines and monitors either.

As you might have already guessed, the wall that used to be there was already long gone, you just needed to trust in the future enough to take a step forward instead of standing still. It wasn’t magic or luck or good timing, it was making the choice to put one foot squarely in front of the other and not being afraid to look ahead. Holding hands and hugging close never felt so good.

And for the compassion, patience and empathy all of this has brought me? Well, the learning curve wasn’t much fun and it could have lasted a much shorter time, but I don’t wish it happened any other way. It’s what makes the little things more special, the days more exciting and the world multi-colored instead of like blancmange. Sometimes people wonder why and how I light up at the littlest of things, but now that they’re here and I’m here with them, these small details and extras are nothing but tiny joys. So, the long way round, I found the silver lining, and it’s pretty freakin’ sweet.