When a Glass Heart Shatters

In September I asked this question and I meant everything that follows.  I'm posting it now because I think a lot of people go through life shatterings and feel alone and don't know what to do about it.  So, here is what I lived through:

What do you do with your life when your heart has been shattered into thousands of jagged pieces of broken glass?  All of them crumbled into a glittering heap of broken dreams that were once shiny and new, now lying flat on their faces in the road tarnished by dirt and no longer reflecting hope.

Some people have advised gathering all these jagged pieces of your heart together, picking them up and continuing down the same path you were on before.  I've looked at all their sharp edges and balked.  Gathering them up will only cut up my hands.

There is no mending of broken glass.  It's broken, it can't be put back together, picking up the fragments is dangerous to the safety of the rest of me.  I don't need to bleed from other places while I try hopelessly to salvage broken portions of my heart.

Over the last few years, I've sort of put a fence around my heart.  Caution tape and orange plastic fences around the scene of the accident.  Head on collision, lots of broken glass all in a heap.  Every so often on weekends, I stop by to marvel at the wreckage.  Even less often I come prepared with gloves and tweezers and I stoop down close to the pile.  I'll gather up two pieces of glass and glue them together and then leave them off to the side.  Maybe one day they'll function again, but I don't hold my breath.  There is one chunk of my heart still functioning and I've left it in there for examination by experts at the scene.

When these experts are on shift they do detective work and try to figure out where things went wrong and I more or less give the whole thing a really wide berth.  I don't walk the same path anymore.  I don't do the same things.  I've essentially left my heart in it's crumbled little pile and carried on with the one chunk I have left.

What's the point of picking up the pieces?  The world isn't what we want it to be.  It's not our bloody oyster.  It's the way it is.  Cold, impersonal, brutal and real.  It doesn't care if your heart gets involved in a twenty car pile up on the freeway, or is beaten with a bat, or gets thrown against a wall at the end of a relationship.  Whether you've lost someone, lost a dream, lost a whole life, lost all hope, it makes no difference.  The world is just the way it is and stumbling around brokenly carrying bloody handfuls of shattered glass isn't going to change that.

No, you can't just go on.  You'll never be the same.  Even if you miraculously managed to piece together your heart and glue it together with a billion uneven fractures into a whole heart you wouldn't be the same.  Even if you gathered every tiny sliver of glass up and not a single piece was left lying in the street you wouldn't be the same.  You would always have the scars, the fractures that were just a little bit weaker, the chance you could shatter again more easily, and the memory.  Even if you melted all of your glass fragments down and reformed them again you would remember that once they laid shattered in a heap, alone, broken, hopeless in a gutter.  And you would feel more fragile for it.

So knowing this, knowing all of this and looking at the sad pile of broken glass on the ground that used to belong to me, what do I do?  Solitude is calling to me but it offers no respite.  It calls in the way that solitude calls to a wounded animal.  It wants me to slink off to a solitary place and hope for a peaceful death.  My wounds, however, are not fatal.  They are of the marring variety, the sort that almost make you wish you'd died but leave you unmercifully in a state of sadly altered life.

Never.

The word that caused this shattering with a single blow.  It's finality gripping and crushing and harsh.

So where do you go from here?  Part of my life has ended violently, shattered and gone.  I see it lying there hopelessly fractured.  How can there be a forward now?  My cat nature tells me that I cannot go either forward or back.  That leaves me left and right.  But both options seem hopeless when faced with the jagged remains of what used to be a heart and the dreams that are gone forever.

Maybe I will lie here, curled up near the scene of the crime and wait for an answer on what comes next.  I hope God is listening because he is also involved in this wreck.  But I have lost hope that he will answer.

So, what do I do? 

If you want to know what I did with my life and my heart in the months that followed, the continuation post: Mending a Heart of Glass, will be posted soon.

Rocky and Shadow's Guide to Street Food

Popcorn is always a fine choice. - Photo via Flickr "face it" by Amancay Maahs

As the air turns chilly and thoughts of pumpkin spice everything floats in our heads, it is time to consider enjoying a pumpkin spice latte on a walk through the freshly chilled air.  A lazy afternoon stroll in the autumn air capped off with the perfect snack from a street food vendor is the recipe for a perfect Saturday afternoon.  And it just so happens that combining walks and street food is a favorite pastime of Rocky and Shadow.  So, it stands to reason that they would know the ins and outs of all the best local street foods.  "Everyone raves about street tacos," says Shadow "but my personal favorite is sidewalk popcorn.  All those delicious little kettle-corn kernels just sprinkled in the cracks of the sidewalk.  They brighten up even the longest most tiring walks."

The finest street popcorn - Photo via Flickr by Nadia Hatoum

Shadow is always on the lookout for tasty morsels left behind by foolish humans.  Rocky is more interested in the walking, but even he agrees that Saturdays are the best for finding street treats.

Photo via Flickr "Sunbathing Popcorn" by Mika

"Saturday evening walks always produce the best smells," Rocky tells us.  "Market day is a big deal here.  Everyone likes it.  Dogs and people abound throughout the morning, and by evening the very best aromas have blended together into a perfect Saturday evening sunset of smells.  There's really nothing like it."

Rocky and Shadow are foodies.  They like to regale their new friends with stories of the best foods they've found in the area.  Gutter apples sprinkled with flakes of perfectly blended autumn leaves sound almost too magical to be real.  But Rocky claims he found one once, and Shadow seems to remember with great pain that he didn't stumble across this find himself.  Also to Rocky's credit is the discovery of several quaint little neighborhood spots that have produced bush leftovers in the form of par-eaten ribs with a hint of earthy soil sauce.  

Lest you think that all the great discoveries are Rocky's, it should be noted that Shadow can claim discovery of the motor-oil infused road crackers that are a new and growing trend in the neighborhood, much to both dogs' continued delight.  While the absolute favorite is still bite-sized bread crusts and a hearty helping of veggies wrapped gently in grease-soaked paper and laid aside in, dare I say, hole-in-the-wall eateries near the sidewalk; they are only for the most discerning of foodies.  

Aren't these wrappers mouth-wateringly beautiful? - Photo via Flickr "Cupcake wrappers" by Joy

If all of this talk of street food has made you hungry, Rocky and Shadow cannot recommend market day enough.  As a matter of fact, they are always on the lookout for the latest and greatest in food trends in the area.  And don't worry, for those of you who love dessert but are watching waste-lines, be on the lookout for a local rosebush cafe that offers delectable and low-carb candy wrappers with just a hint of chocolate.  With so many irresistible street-food options right around the corner, it's hard to see how life could get any better.

Delectable low-carb candy wrappers - Photo via Flickr "laziness" by Leonard J Matthews

Don't mind me, I'm just an Old Shoe...

Do you ever look around the world and wonder what's wrong with it until you reach the conclusion that it's you?  I'm an introvert which is really just a fancy way of saying I'm a bit shy and I enjoy people watching more than actually living.  And recently, with all my down time and my people watching, I've come to a sort of small epiphany.  People are as varied as the shoes they wear.  There are the loud ones and the sleek ones and the sporty ones.  Shoes and people can be functional and flirty, colourful and dark, captivating and invisible.

I've come to the conclusion that I am the comfortable shoe.  What is wrong with my life is me.  People fall quickly into a routine with me because I'm comfortable.  I can go long or short distances, I'm easy to please, sort of versatile.  I'm ok with adventure but I'm not the hardcore hiking boot or the tough as nails steel-toed boot.  I can go out dancing but I don't ooze charm or sophistication or sexiness.  I don't chafe, or annoy.  I'm just easy.  People wear me every day for awhile and then suddenly they trade me in for a pair of fancy, new, shiny, unworn shoes.  Maybe they go sportier or more professional.  Sometimes they choose flirty and totally sexy.  It's hard to say which direction they'll go after they've thrown me in the corner.  All I know is that they have no trouble leaving me behind.  I'm the comfortable shoe.  I'm meant to be put on every day til they tire of me.  Worn through the tight places, muddy places, dark places.  Used til I'm falling apart at the seams.  Then, just as is my purpose, I'm put in a corner or a dark cupboard and never thought of again.

Well, that is until I'm needed all of a sudden.  Then just like that I'm expected to be as accommodating and comfortable and flexible as ever.  After months of being ignored and left alone in a corner I'm suddenly brought back out and supposed to be happy with being put on every morning when they need a quick pick me up run, worn through all the tight and sad places, and used up til I'm emotionally tearing apart at the seams.  I'm supposed to be content with this because I'm the comfortable shoe that everyone loves having around because I'm so easy and so comforting.  All the while knowing that maybe tomorrow, maybe in a month, they will bore of me again and I'll go back to being forgotten in the dark.

Ah, the good old comfortable shoe.  Perfect for a day of mixed activities; easy to kick off when you feel like something else.

I'm just one of those people.  I'm willing to listen and reminisce.  You can drag me out of the cupboard and I'm still me; worn-in just the way you remember and find so comforting.  And the funny thing is that while I hate being a comfortable shoe I don't hate who I am.

I think being there for people is generally a nice thing to do and I wish more people were a bit more on the comfortable shoe side of the scale.  It seems like most of my friends are specialized shoes.  I know hiking boots and business shoes and dancing shoes and sexy shoes.  I don't have a problem with any of them.  I love them for who they are.  But sometimes I wish I knew a few more comfortable shoes who could be there when I need to go through tight, dark places and get a little wet and muddy.  We could go on adventures, sit at home, and yes, even hang out together in the corner when our other friends are busy doing their thing.

But my professional shoe friends are always in business meetings.  My dancing shoe friends can't be bothered if the situation doesn't call for music.  Sexy shoes are too busy flirting with everyone to notice I'm around unless they need a comfortable shoe friend.  Hiking boot friends have no trouble with a little mud but they're nearly always out scaling some new mountain and having a marvelous time doing it whether you are there or not.

Maybe I should form a society for people like me, comfortable shoe types.  Maybe we could get together and be supportive of one another since it's clear that sexy shoes are never going to slog through the mud by our side no matter how many times we are there for them and business shoes, are, well, too busy.  We could call it SCRAPES (Society for Comfortable Reliable And Perfectly Eclipsed Shoes) and underneath that last word we can write in tiny letters "Or people, you know, whatever..."