I just spent a few minutes reading a great essay from Steve about our Grand Canyon trip this last winter. An interesting part of the essay comes when he describes the seemingly mechanical process our bodies and minds adopted when hiking out of the massive void. He shares the anxiety he could no longer ignore when standing hip deep in snow drifts, saturated to the core, with a fleeting sunset dramatically dipping into the Earth.
As I read this, it hit me. I've been experiencing a situation of some anxiety, but running on auto-pilot for the past few days. My life is about to change completely, the sun is setting on an old chapter in the book of Chris. But rather than mechanically functioning due to an act of survival, similar to what Steve and I experienced in January, I have been coasting effortlessly on a cloud of bliss. I know a new day is coming, and I rejoice in anticipation of its arrival.
Peers and co-workers alike have asked if I'm nervous yet. Am I supposed to be? Maybe reality will come out of a uterus and smack me in the head, or better yet firehose my face. Yet I still believe that the anxiety is a product of impatience, and reality is what I long for.
Nights of sleeplessness may come, but so will the days of joy. Firsts for Sesame, firsts for the family. New memories and smiles that last a lifetime.
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3 comments:
I love the line about reality coming out of a uterus and firehosing your face. That will be some laughs I'm sure. Having such a loving husband makes it hard to feel so nervous. There will definitely be hard things, but man, it will be an adventure.
Oops, that last comment was really me :)
Tasha and I were just talking last night about how placid, calm, and cool you both are, considering what is about to happen. It is very interesting to think how overnight it can all change. But you are right, it is beautiful. Thanks Chris.
Especially for the firehose imagery...;)
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