So many, many times during the past few months I've had this feeling of losing my way. I wasn't sure which direction I should follow. The phrase, "lost in space", aptly defined my navigational system. I justed wanted to find my way back "home". I wanted to find my way back to all the comforts and safety structures of time and place. Nothing in my purview seemed familiar or made sense anymore. I wasn't even sure that I was mentally functioning appropriately. There were inexplicable confrontations (but definitely deserved in my opinion), sketchy feelings of "flight" rather than "fight", and a general sense of purposelessness (if this is even a word). I needed to present a front of holding it ltogether so family and friends wouldn't be worried. And, in all practical purposes, this was true. But inside my head was the face of that famous "Scream" picture by Edvard Munch. I was functioning in a dream state that I knew I would wake up from - but didn't. Then there was that one pivotal moment when at 2:00 a.m., I decided to put my car outside of the garage so I could sweep out all the leaves that had blown in - and also to just scream and cry a little, even hoping a black bear would come in and put me out of my misery. But for some reason I went over to a Woolrich hunting coat hanging in the garage and put my hand into the pockets hoping to find an answer to this madness. And there it was - a tiny compass, and somehow in that moment, I knew I would find my way back home. A friend recently held my hand and reminded me that there are no coincidences in this life, just signs pointing the way.
"You’re my true north. No compass would point me in any other direction but to you."
-Kristen Hope Mazzola, Crashing Back Down
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