“Sooner or later that fire I love about you, that fire is going to burn out.” –Jack Dawson, Titanic
I am sitting here doing absolutely nothing. I know it is a waste of a day to indulge that thing called nothing, but it is what it is. I am watching the movie Titanic. First, I thought about the choice poor Rose must make to marry a man for stability and comfort, or run with the man she connects with and loves. It is a very difficult choice, and the guilt by her mother does not help. Then, the scene above came on, and that quote hit home.
Eventually that fire is going to burn out.
Here I sit contemplating my fire. This is why I dislike chick flicks. They make me think and remember that I am a woman. Most days, I forget that fact. Other than the present signs that I am a woman (such as night sweats and mood swings); I am too busy to care. With two grandkids under the age of 10 living with us, life remains full of character and laughter. There is no time to care about being a woman.
It is the moments I sit watching movies alone that my mind wanders. Late at night, when all are in bed, and I sit alone by candlelight, they hit me like a ton of bricks. I knew these days were coming. Done raising my kids, I knew this was coming. Approaching 22 years of marriage, I knew it was coming.
I am a middle-aged woman who has lived a strong life. How did I live so strong only to feel so weak now? I question everything about myself these days. I know age has a way of looking forward while simultaneously looking back. Stranded in the middle, I feel lost. I am looking deep within for that fire. Unfortunately, I don’t feel anything burning. The question is can the flames reignite once again.
Every day is a gift. I often wake up early to run outside and capture the sunrise. The perfect colors put a smile on my face. Smiling is rare, so it is a treat to me. Every new day is supposed to usher in new possibilities. For me, every new day holds mystery and uncertainty. Every new day allows me to say goodbye to whatever drama I dealt with yesterday. I am the Debbie downer of Denver. It is not how I desire to be, it just is.
Have you been to a carnival? Remember that game with a wall of balloons and darts. You throw the darts and pop one or more balloons to win a prize. Well, life is the darts, and I am the balloons. Pinned up and hollow inside, nothing but air. I sit ready, waiting for the next dart to hit.
This is why sooner or later the fire will burn out. Or in my case, has burned out. The darts kept coming. My air is gone, and I am slowly deflating. Is this depression? Is this a pity party? Is it understandable? Disappointment is a fire hose to my flame. Whatever I may be feeling, or not feeling at this point, is understandable. I give myself permission to sit in the cold of my soul, and pout. I offer myself time to heal, and to find the cinder still burning deep down.
At the end of this night, nothing will change in my situation, but maybe something will change in my being. Maybe on this day the fire will return, or maybe tomorrow, or the next day. It is the fact that I hold on to hope for that day, whenever that might be.