Broken

Harpers Bazaar, Katharine Hepburn 1932

Good evening, dear reader. It’s been awhile. I hope you’re well. I hope life is making sense. I hope you are smiling often. And I hope when you look in the mirror – you appreciate what you see. I think that is why I’m writing tonight. I felt led to slide my work aside, and say something to you. I haven’t a clue yet what that is. So in many ways, as always, we will be reading this together.

As many of you know, I’ve always felt broken. For the longest time I saw this as a flaw. A deficit. Something lacking. It took years for me to view it differently. And I’d be lying if I said there weren’t still times when my view needs a readjustment; when I need to center and reconnect with the deepest and highest version of myself. And then as if someone cleared the grime from my windshield, I can see clearly again. And this is what I see.

Sometimes we need to break what is to allow for what can be. Sometimes we need to break old patterns of thought, beliefs, long held hurts and memories. I can’t say why life pummels us the way it does. But I do know it matters what we do with the broken pieces. I grew up feeling broken, which made for a rather rough start. Was it necessary. I can’t say. 

But I can say, once I decided to look at those pieces; to examine them and deliberately choose to create something out of them, something of my own making – life changed. I think everyone is a little bit broken. But I also believe some of the most beautiful things in life, are born from the space between those broken pieces. 

It takes courage to hold these pieces in our hand. They’re sharp. But they are also beautiful. They are you. They are me. I’m still building a mosaic from the pieces I find within myself. An exhibit piece I hope to craft until I take my last breath. Those pieces are what allow me to see deeper into the eyes of those before me. Those pieces are what allow me to hear the words not spoken; sitting quietly behind the words that are. If it weren’t for the broken pieces within myself I wouldn’t have half the compassion for others that I do – not to mention the compassion I have for myself.

Life reflects are beliefs. So tonight, as we sit with spring hesitant to take the stage, I ask that you use this moment to spread out your broken pieces. Privately, lay them before you. Stand back and examine all the jagged edges. Notice the irregular shapes. Some small. Some large. Some still holding much of their original shape. Others, reduced to pebbles. And run your fingers across them. They didn’t break easily. Not one broke on its own. Something happened. 

Life isn’t meant to be stagnant. You are meant to change. You are meant to morph and evolve and grow and become. It may hurt to hold some of these broken pieces. If it hurts, it means you need to heal, release and allow for something new. Allow that piece to be part of something new – Its waiting for you to transform it – Every piece is waiting for you.

I like to think of myself as a beautiful mosaic. I am all of my broken pieces, rearranged, and deliberately transformed. But also, I am the spaces in between. I am newly formed pieces born of my own creation. I am multi-colored and consist of every shape imaginable. And I wouldn’t trade one broken piece for smooth, flawlessness. This mosaic is me and its so much more than its original form.

Sane

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