Break

Busted knee, broken sigh, and it's amazing that I'm here again.

They teach you about plasticity of the brain in psychology. It's the brain's way of adapting for something that goes missing. A blind person's brain still has that blank space where sight should be, but the longer it goes unfilled, the more the areas around it begin to filter in, stealing the grey matter to do their own jobs even better. They can hear better, distinguish voices in the way a sighted person never could, and detect even the faintest touch on their body. They are blind, yes, but the body overcompensates in other areas to account for this misfortune. It bounces back.

What I'm interested in is the plasticity of the human spirit.

You've all experienced it. One moment you're happy, spirited, content with where you are and what's going on around you. You're in control, or if you're not, you're comfortable with whoever's in charge. Life is good at best, bearable at worst.

But the next second, it's gone, you're gone, you're falling. How could things ever have been better? How could things ever have been the way they used to, how could you ever have been happy with who you were and what was going on?

How were you okay?

Think of the little boy with a heaping ice cream cone. He's gloriously happy with his lot, burying his face in the sweet delight of summer. And then, with a sick sliding motion, the cone is gone, on the ground, lost to dirt and ants and hot sidewalk. His face crumples, and he sobs. The loss of that ice cream cone, something small and unimportant to others, is so massive to him that it's nearly apocalyptic.

But not 2 minutes later, he has another cone in hand, bought by a consoling parent or an exasperated older sibling, and life is good again. The old hurt is mostly forgotten, yet the tears haven't even dried on his face.

That feeling, the awful crashing, collapsing feeling of things falling apart, is unmistakable. It twists your gut and contorts your face while your heart seems to burst, and it is misery. I felt it the June evening my parents announced their divorce. I felt it the night my family pulled into a motel the morning before we would leave Preston. I felt it 10 months ago on a cold winter night not unlike those outside right now. And at the time, I was sure that things could never go back. I was sure that I'd have to stay this miserable, at least for the foreseeable future, because there was no way that this would ever be okay. There was no way I'd ever be able to escape from under the shadow such momentous moments cast on my life. It is dramatic, but in times of stress, we all turn to drama.

I was wrong.

I moved on, grew up, learned lessons, fought through. I discovered strength I didn't knew I had and friends I never would have found if not for my troubles. I found empathy. I found forgiveness. I found appreciation for things I had overlooked in the past: a hug from a friend, a good book to escape in, a walk in the park. I redefined my faith, stretching it to fit my new demands, and tested my God. I broke. I healed. I am still healing today, and will be for as long as I live.

The trick, however, is to push forward without disregarding the past. Where do our lessons come from if not our personal history? The small boy with the ice cream cone soon forgets his loss, but the new cone could still topple if he isn't careful. But even more important is maintaining hope and optimism and not falling to cynicism and harshness. It is easier to be hurt when hoping, but it is easier to love, too.

I'm not here to preach; that's my last intention. I'm searching for answers and ways to grow, like many of us are. And this is just what I have learned so far: The fall is shattering, but rebuilding is always possible.