learning – Stained Glass Butterfly

If this is true, then I am excessively educated! For almost half a year now, I have been plagued by either illness or injury. It kicked off with bronchitis right around Halloween, a hacking cough that persisted through Thanksgiving, a fun bout of flu over Christmas that I shared with my poor husband, and then a series of endless, odd injuries that have kept me hobbling, limping, and wincing.

Most recently, a clumsy accident left my knee swollen and stiff, and walking has been nearly impossible. I have steady relationships with ice packs and pain relievers, and a compression knee brace is my newest fashion accessory.

This past weekend, though, I felt healed up enough to venture outside with my husband. Yesterday was a beautiful day, and we decided to head out to the lake. Although he loves fishing, I somehow have never tried it, so he set up my new fishing pole and gave me my first lesson.

I admit, I did not expect to like it very much. Toss some bait into the water, then just stand there baking in the sun, sweating, waiting to see if a fish comes along…I didn’t see the point. But after I got the hang of casting my line, I can see how it is actually relaxing: the whir of the fishing line at it feeds out, the soft splash of the bait, then watching the rhythmic motion of the water as you reel the line back in, all the while surrounded by gently waving water, reflecting the puffy clouds and gorgeous blue sky.

I glanced over at my husband as he cast his line, and I could plainly see how much he enjoys fishing. He patiently showed me everything he was doing, talked about bass and bait fish and different kinds of fishing, moving his line easily through the water like he was steering it, and I could tell he was in his element. He was happy.

The first time that I tossed out my line, and it actually sailed out freely, smoothly, like maybe I knew what I was doing, I excitedly turned to see if he had seen it. He was smiling over his shoulder, reeling in his own line but keeping an eye on me, too.

He joked about me having a talent for getting the fishing line in a tangle, but he showed me (more than once…okay, a lot) how to free the line and get back to business. I think he really enjoyed watching me learn a hobby he has loved for years. He kept tentatively asking if I was done and wanted to leave, and he seemed so happy when I would say no, I wasn’t ready to go yet. I wanted to cast again.

I’m not sure why it took us so long to go fishing together. I’m just very glad we did.

It seems like the older I get, the faster time is flying by. It would be dangerous to settle complacently into a corner and get too comfortable. Before I know it, days turn into months, then years, in the blink of an eye. If I don’t remain actively aware of it, what will ever change?

For better or worse, I have a shockingly stark example of what could happen if I never change.

When I first met my husband over 17 years ago, I was also unfortunately faced with his pestilent ex, Psycho. I attempted once — only once — to have a rational conversation with her about being civil for the sake of the kids. Her response was so execrable that it left no doubt that sense and sanity would never have a place in any interactions with her.

But people learn and change, right? Well, ideally, yes, they do. Seventeen years later, however, not one septic thought or action of Psycho’s has changed even the slightest. Still ragingly jealous. Still pathologically obsessed. Still no hesitation to gluttonously cannibalize the kids to placate her hollow ego. Same tirades, same games, same silly lies on repeat, stunted and stale and predictable.

Seventeen years have passed, one day at a time, and Psycho is content to be exactly the same as she was back then. No improvement, no learning, not one single step forward, and a mortifying lack of pride, class, or self-awareness to even be properly embarrassed by that.

It used to drive me crazy. Surely, someday, she must change, because how could anyone remain gratified with being nothing but trash with a pulse?

One major thing has changed, but on my part, not hers. I finally made myself accept that it wasn’t a temporary flaw or a momentary blunder of hers. It is exactly who she is at heart, and I don’t need to understand it. In fact, I prefer that I never do. It’s simply not worth the time or energy to ponder her countless shortcomings when she will remain precisely the same years from now, decades from now, at best garnering some charitable pity here and there, but never respect or admiration or genuine affection. The nothing she is today is the same nothing she will be the day she dries up and withers away.

What about me? I can’t believe it’s been over 17 years already since I met my husband. Psycho is the only scenery standing still. Everything and everyone else is racing by, changing on fast forward. The kids are no longer small. This spring will be the last high school graduation for us. The oldest child is now married. My husband and I, once just friends nervously getting to know each other, are also married, with our own home, building memories and making plans and looking forward to our future together, and I can’t imagine life without him at my side.

In the same time period, what has Psycho done? Well…nothing. She chose to root herself long ago in bitterness, jealousy, and hatred, and each passing year buries her even deeper in her self-dug crypt. Still wholly supported by her father’s handouts well into her 50s, still destroying every relationship she touches. She denies reality by self-servingly patting herself on the back, calling herself an independent woman, filtering her pictures with a heavier (and more obvious) hand with each passing year, and shoveling more and more absurd lies to whitewash her meaningless life instead of attempting any real growth or advancement.

Psycho wears the foulness of her inside in the lines, sags, and folds of her outside. There is no light, or kindness, or goodness to soften the harshness of her decline. It’s more than merely aging: it’s stagnancy, putrefying from the inside out. It’s the opposite of living.

Time is supposed to bring change. It’s part of life. The flipping of calendar pages should bring evolution, adaptation, development. Stagnancy is unhealthy and crippling, a sure sign that something is malfunctioning. It’s a brightly blazing check engine light, a red flag a mile wide.

It scares me to look back and realize how quickly time has slipped by already. It’s like watching the road streak by from a speeding car. The only guarantee is that it’s going to keep rushing by, whether I’m ready or not.

I still have some control over my destination. I know two things for sure: what I want to drive toward, and what I want to steer clear from.

I want to drive my life toward: love. Peace. Happiness. Honesty. Clarity. As close to my husband as I can get, making sure he never doubts how much I adore him and cherish him in my life. Contributing to the world around me, teaching as I learn, appreciating the beauty in the most simple things around me, and discovering more about myself and the world as I try new things.

I want to be sure that stagnancy stays far, far in the rearview mirror. I don’t understand being satisfied with a gangrenous soul or rotted psyche, but there is freedom in no longer attempting to understand. It’s not my burden to fathom anyone’s poor life choices.

I have far more important things to concentrate on, like fully and truly living my life, holding onto the light and love of each day, enjoying many more adventures with my husband, laughing as much as possible, helping whenever I can, feeling and savoring and experiencing every single thing that life has to offer me, and making sure I don’t miss the lesson or blessing between every beautiful sunrise and sunset of the rest of my days.