She and I share many commonalities, but two of the most familiar on this path are loss and life. I, too, have said on many occasions to other people, “I just don’t think I fit here anymore.”
Our conversation was about thirty minutes ago and I’ve been reflecting on what it means to fit. What am I trying to fit into? What of me has spilled over into another existence that this world ignores? Is it me or is it the world around me that doesn’t fit?
Life makes sense when we make sense to another. In loss, we naturally gravitate to those that know what it is like to live here, but not fit here. Love’s location is wherever love is. And my love for those I will always love isn’t here. And neither is a part of me.
We spoke of waking up in the morning out of sync. She said, “It takes me most of the morning to fit in here.” I have the same adjustment process. I do not wake up naturally in rhythm to my surroundings. It takes me a time of deep sitting before I can walk the day. I go into a process of reflection and gather my self into myself.
I have learned to accept what I have gone through is not through with me. I am here still living in the aftermath of loss and its daily unfolding. For me to live the fullness of life I must live the fullness of loss. They are so intertwined. I know my sorrow shapes my joy as much as my joy shapes my sorrow.
I also know from the very depths of my being that nothing lives in isolation. Nothing is separate. This world interconnects with all worlds. Existence, by its very essence, exists everywhere. So what am I trying to fit into and what doesn’t fit?
In the conversation this morning, I realized where I fit. Consequently, I realized where I don’t fit. I fit in shared experienced. The world that I don’t fit in is a world that is out of sync with me. It is not me that is out of sync. It is the world that lives around me and not in me.
Loss has given me corrective lenses and I see differently now. I look at a world that fills the days with things that just don’t make sense to me. I have come to realize I don’t fit the senselessness of so much that we do. And I don’t want to fit that into my life. I am not interested in trivial pursuit. The hues of sorrow have revealed a far deeper existence than to merely exist in their illusionary normalcy. I live a different normal now.
I measure my life by how willing am I willing to feel, to be, to become. I see the world measure me by what I do, how much I have accumulated, and most importantly, how well I fit in. I am not much of a success in the eyes of the world. Fortunately, I am a witness to this life through my eyes, not theirs’.
When another who has lived such loss to such depths says, “I can live here. I just don’t fit here,” my first response was pure joy. I immediately responded, “I know exactly what you mean!”
And after I hung up the phone I reflected deeper into what that really meant to me. It means everything. It means I’m not crazy. It means I’m not alone.
I know nothing lives in isolation, but the mind is not the heart. There are so many moments I feel so alone. I feel dread waking to a world that takes me half the day just to adjust to its demands. I dread the echo chamber of my thoughts that miss the fullness of their lives next to mine and leaves me empty, unconnected to here and wanting to be there. Or even more, the agony of the impossible – wanting them to be here. I rise from sleep into somebody else’s dream and it takes time to sift through the mire to find my meaning, my dream, my life.
This dear friend and I share the same mornings in different locations. Another loss has compounded the many losses that live with her. We spoke of many things from the same place. We shared a resonant laugh and a tenderness that slips between the words and settles in our common sorrow.
This morning I saw another who sees me. I have someone who knows how what we have lost will forever live within us and through us.
When she said, “I can live here. I just don’t fit here,” it was like coming home and getting a big hug from a dear loved one. I hung up the phone and thought to myself, “But you do fit here. You fit here with me.”
