Turning gold

Those of you who know me personally might think that today’s title is a reference to my recent birthday. It isn’t. Although I do find it amusing that the word “gold” ends with the world “old”…

Today, let’s start with pre-crime me. The me who sported some dents and dings but had not yet shattered. Most of the time, I don’t remember what that me was like. And then, I’m doing some random thing—say watching a music video I haven’t seen in ages—when, *BOOM*, the old me appears like a treasured friend who has been away for far too long.

For a moment, there is peace and contentment. There’s a spark of joy, a rush of familiarity, and I remind myself that this is the feeling I’ve been fighting to rediscover. Whenever it happens, I take a deep breath and sit with it for a moment. It’s so comfortable. Then I push at the edges, testing the boundaries, exploring to see if I can hold onto that feeling for a little longer than last time.

This is a type of triggering I could get used to. Instead of reminding me of the horror of the trauma and its aftermath, it reminds me of who I am deep down and provides me with the motivation I need to keep piecing myself back together.

We live and learn. We experience things that impact who we are and who we will become. We change. This isn’t a bad thing. It’s the key to growth. I don’t want to be the exact person I was five years ago. I want to be better. I have no desire to hide the cracks. I will not pretend that I am unblemished. But I also have no intention of allowing the terrible thing that happened destroy the parts of me that I cherish most. I damn well am going to feel content in my own skin again someday.

Recently, I discovered the Japanese art of Kintsugi and realized that this is exactly what I am trying to do with my soul. For the past 4 ½ years, I have puzzled myself back together, one broken piece at a time, with brand new seams of gold.

I am not ashamed that I broke.

I am not ashamed that it’s taken me almost five years to get here. I don’t care if it takes five or ten or even twenty more. Before I’m done, I intend to highlight each and every fracture. Those shimmering seams of gold don’t emphasize the fault lines that knocked me to the ground when they shuddered. They remind me that I pulled myself out of the rubble and dusted myself off.

I am standing.

It doesn’t matter how much gold this process takes. I don’t care if, by the time I rediscover that comfortable, content version of myself, I am composed entirely of gold.

I will be whole once more.

And from here on out, when the light hits just right and I sparkle and shimmer, I will celebrate my progress.

I am turning gold. How glorious is that?

Because travel seems so out of reach these days, I chose Paris as our photo destination of the day—talk about glorious. When the world gets back to business, Paris and I need to get reacquainted…