I feel like a dry lake sometimes. At this point you’re going: “I’m sorry, what?”
You see, I have been full of life, people, places, generally speaking. I have had different lives, in various cities, with varieties of relationships and love. Every time though, I lost it, and the water receded, and my smaller life took on a new shape, and had different edges than before. But my lake has slowly been running dry. And everywhere I look, I see where all my water used to be, the old shape it once had still etched in the land. I’m reminded of how full it used to be. How deep my waters ran. But this metaphor is an illusion.
Maybe now you’re not saying “I’m sorry… what?” But instead: “ok, so what does this have to do with anything?”
I’m always looking for a new way to articulate my experiences. And I live in the shadow of my past, which I have not forgotten, because reminders of it are everywhere. But now, in this outstanding direction, I’ve revitalized my lake and filled it right back to capacity, burying all the memories of shapes it once had below the surface forever. I don’t live haunted by my failed lives. They are subject to erosion, not preservation. I am still with that past, but I vow never to let my life take a shape that is less than what I deserve. Now you might be going: “I still think the post about the muffin metaphor was better.”