Three stories, three guys. Two names are changed to protect the innocent. All have a connection.
I have a buddy living in a foreign city, a place where the world is his oyster. He moved from a place that was in between two big cities, a place he hated. But he made choices there–he limited his mobility, and his chances to explore the place. He moved, hoping to open up again. Instead, he chose to live far away from the city center. It’s a chore to get there and back, and he doesn’t enjoy the activities the city offers. He’s isolated himself.
A family member I love nearly ended it all. Not by some spectacular method, but by slowing wasting away. He lost his job, had trouble finding another, and he was losing his sense of worth and value. His reason to live. He had grown so weak from lack of nourishment that his brother and sister had to bathe him. When I saw him over Christmas, he wasn’t the same guy with the sly smile. His hair was much grayer, and his walk was slow and gingerly. Looking at him, I knew he felt isolated.
And there’s me.
My heart yearns to be open. I want it to be open to receive all the goodness it can, and to heal itself if it’s hurt. My friend and my kin isolated themselves. I don’t want to be so isolated. Even if my heart hurts, it has to stay open, whole.
Sometimes I do things on instinct. Not necessarily physical things, but emotionally and spiritually. My reaction to something earlier this year, I think, was an innate reaction to seeing my kin. In a way, my kin was saying to me, be open, live, keep your heart whole. Be whole. Give that wholeness. Even if you stumble, give, and live.