Yesterday, as I sat down for a cup of coffee in the late morning, I came across this drawing in my little watercolor moleskin. It is of a woman with her heart ripped out. Her face and head were a bit different. There was no background. I don't remember the incident (or if there actually was one) that propelled her into being. But there she was. And so I took out my small travel watercolor set, each tiny colored cake all wrapped up in cellophane and brand new, and I painted her to existence.
Sometimes in life, I imagine we all feel this way. Someone disappoints. Someone leaves. We fall critically short of our desires. And our heart doesn't just break, it seems torn out and shredded. Eventually, slowly perhaps, we come into the mending. Our sadness is sewn together with small threads of kindness, time, and hope. The stitches may hurt. We are vulnerable beings when we are being true and not covering all with bravado and beer. If you are one who is especially emotional, you might not just wear your heart on your sleeve, but carry its dilapidated carcass right out there for all to see. Being human is not for the weak.
Wherever you find yourself this morning, in the mending or riding high with joy, take a little time to be kind to yourself. Be aware of your fragility and sacred life. I give thanks for these bits of myself, painful at times, but they are what make me so alive.