Gentle Stories of Discovery: Chapter 1 - The Invitation

THE INVITATION

It perched on the mantelpiece, aloof, self-assured, and provocative. A seemingly harmless rectangle of card bearing its messages in sophisticated font and branding colours. Yet I felt the thud of my heart each time I glanced in its direction. Too ashamed to respond, yet too frightened not to, I allowed the entire business of the invitation to consume me.

There was no rectangular card sitting on a mantelpiece; there was no constant visual reminder in my living room. It was digital: Facebook, to be precise. The innocuous words: ’You are invited…’ were like a petrifying poison that surged through my veins, alien and unsettling. So, up it went, onto the metaphorical mantelpiece—for later. I needed time to process this; it was not so bad; I was being ridiculous.

Why would an invitation to a reunion have caused such an opening of deeply disguised wounds? The Pandora’s box of wrong turns, missed opportunities, self-unawareness and lack of self-confidence, oh and guilt and shame and self-blame and ….. everything, all spilled out covering the previously familiar ground around me. I had nowhere to tread. Could I navigate this messy crowd, baying for my resignation?

I wondered whether I was alone. I considered whether there were others, or even one other, who felt the same way. The way a new flower bud struggles to enter the world, but is too late, and all the other buds have blossomed and made their mark? Nobody would ask, ‘What kind of flower will you be when you grow up?’ because you are already grown up; by now, you should have taken on the semblance of the flower that you were destined to be. Instead, they would ask, ‘What kind of flower are you?’ Who would have thought that a seemingly friendly enquiry had the potential to destabilise me?

‘What do you do then?’

‘What do YOU do then?’

‘WHAT do you do then?’

‘What DO you do then?’

Silence. Awkwardness. ‘Well I …’

I attempted to make sense of this inevitable question and pondered on it. What would I say to myself if I asked that question and no one was listening? If I was to reflect on the positive, would it go something like this….?

Well, I am a writer, and my journey has been long and littered with distractions and other people’s’ dreams. I have recently rediscovered the joy of creating through pictures and words. This was a joy I nurtured in childhood, but somehow discarded, as I followed paths that were not mine to tread. There could have been reasons, there could have been blame, there could simply have been...life.

I've been raising a family, and my children tell me they love me. I've had to bear the heartache of terrible things happening to those I love the most. I've battled with self-doubt and a lack of confidence, but I am proud of the family I have helped to create and support. I'm proud of the friendships I've built and grateful for my opportunities and the support of loved ones.

The new determination bursting out of the seams of my self-imposed prison excites me, and I embrace the things that I am learning with vigour and enthusiasm. I am reading, writing, learning craft, and taking pictures. I am still looking after and looking out for my children, my husband. I have neither the energy, nor the mental capacity for any more, but this is enough. I am enough.

These were buds that would eventually bloom in their own time. The fear in my veins was shifting whilst optimism, gratitude, and purpose edged their way onto my mantelpiece.

The invitation? I accepted wholeheartedly. I accepted the invitation to shower myself with kindness, positivity, and joy. I accepted the invitation to give myself patience and empathy. I accepted the invitation to revel in the excitement of my new ventures and to share my journey with my old friends. I accepted the challenge to fail in public. Lastly, I resolved to be mindful before asking anyone, ‘What do you do?’