“It seems to me that you’re right, there’s an awful lot of darkness goin’ on right now,” my friend agrees, his head shaking side to side as his glasses fall further down his nose, our subjects ranging from Penn State to Lisa Irwin to the European economy (um, not to mention ours) and more. He continues in his philosophical way, his hands following his heartfelt emotions as his words pour out and I clung to each, for each contained wisdom. “But you see, I think the answer is: you just gotta look for the light. And spread the light. Because really, what else is there?”
Tucking these words in my heart for safekeeping as I so often do, I went on with my day, dodging between meetings, putting out fires, trouble-shooting issues, catching up on assignments, training others and trying to wrap my brain around the next 12 hours which contained two significant events: touring my son’s soon to be preschool and attending a major town hall with a new CEO that no one was quite sure what he was going to say as part of a major company merger. Normally, these types of things don’t phase me, but lately…
The “finding the light” conversation had started with me divulging that for the first time in my 31 years, I was concerned I was beginning to lose faith in humanity. That unearthing those glittery stones of goodness were becoming harder to mine. That fear and anxiety were feeding the corners of my mind versus the regular rosy thoughts that generally circulated and always started with the good in people were winning the battle. That I was doubting others’ intentions, their sanity and if I could ever in a million years truly trust any being with my child other than myself with him by my side. That I was bored, restless, unmotivated, scared and tired. More than ever, I needed to find the light…
My drive home was silent, the natural drum of the radio even too much for me to take in my current emotional state. Concern over what kind of Mom and wife I’d be when I arrived since I’d been baking since five a.m., running around like a mad woman and balancing this, that and the other clouded my vision and I did my best to slap on a smile as I entered the mess that is currently our home. And then, it happened.
The light.
The kind of light that shines as a toddler sporting a Super Man cape made of blankets and Mommy’s running shoes greets you at the door. The warm smile from my husband as he prepared dinner and said the words, “you look tired: how about I take care of all this?” The quiet, still conversation I hold with my two-year old for a good 20 minutes about his day’s moments, an instance so rare among constantly moving limbs and lips. Phrases such as “Mommy – you breaka my heart!” watching him dance about the room truly as no one was watching, the kisses he plants on his six animals he constantly totes around as he carefully arranges them on the fireplace and then there was the cuddle session: 45 delicious minutes of classical music playing, the three of us sprawled on the carpeted floor, over 100 tuck ins and each of us, face to face, silent and loving with our souls’ very own eyes.
Now that, my friends, is light.
Light, indeed.
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