I sat in my rocking chair today. It's a significant event for me because I hardly ever slow down enough to sit in my rocking chair.
My rocking chair wears a lot of hats for me. It takes my postural instabilities, and for a moment, makes me feel as if I've never been unstable. My rocking chair suppresses my problems, my worries, and my insecurities. Quite frankly, I'm surprised my rocking chair is still capable of supporting my ass.
But today, I let it all go.
No, not my rocking chair. But everything I gave to it. I usually pick it all back up the moment I remove myself from the rocking chair. But today, for the first time ever, I saw everything I gave to my rocking chair - fall to the ground - and disappear.
Time gave me the chance to be with my rocking chair. Time showed me how precious I was. Time showed me how transient my preciousness is. Time showed me that my rocking chair won't always be there. Time showed me that everything I gave to my rocking chair was beautiful, no matter how hard, how inconceivable, how sad, or how hideous those things appeared to be.
As I removed myself from the rocking chair, in a few, fleeting moments, it all hit the ground. And even if my precious hand decides to pick them up again, it'll never be the same.
Time made sure of that. And it made sure to show me why it(time) is most important.
. . . If you'd like to see some of the things I dropped from the rocking chair, start with this letter that fell first.