“I’m damaged,” he said.
I said, “I know. We’re all damaged.”
I’ve written about this several times and if I were an efficient blogger, I’d link back to those earlier posts, but I find little value in going back and rereading earlier posts. I’ve been built and rebuilt upon words and thoughts of the past but I refuse to get stuck there, stuck in the past. I woke this morning with a rebuttal, a response and changed perspective, We’re not damaged, we’re beautifully broken. Damage implies destruction; damage professes dysfunctional, even non-functional. Such is not the case. I consider this the patina of life, the slow accumulation of distress marks that age and mark us. Life does not gain value and portent by staying shrink wrapped in an unopened toy box, like some action figure collectible. The true value, the genuine treasure, of this life is the evolution, the suffering, the passion by which we live and the changes real living does to our hearts and souls.
Some change is violent, like an earthquake, maybe even more planetary, like the breaking of Pangaea. It shifts the known world, alters maps and coastlines, creates mountain ranges where none before existed. We suddenly have oceans and deep caverns of darkness where before there was peaceful rolling pastures. But in that upheaval there is tremendous beauty and majesty. It’s uncharted and unknown, even to ourselves but it is the blessing. It means we have become something new, someone new, changed and therefore we have something new to share, a new beginning, a newly revealed facet that previously did not exist. It is a new terrain we can explore and share with new people, a frontier that those in our past do not and can never know. That is a beautiful gift.