I hated puzzles growing up. Well, that's not true. I hated most puzzles. There was one puzzle that I enjoyed, but it was only because it was 50 pieces and featured Barbie or trolls or kittens or (wishful thinking) all three. Any other puzzle, however, was torture. Why? Maybe my brain just didn't work that way. Maybe I was easily frustrated and too much of a perfectionist to deal with mismatched pieces and missing corners. Whatever it was, I steered clear of puzzles and focused my energies elsewhere (such as searching for fairies in my backyard and putting on plays about prom in my garage).
And now here I am, 28 and suddenly super into puzzles. Okay, not actual puzzles. (Maybe I should be, though? I mean, I wouldn't mind spending hours alone putting together a giant picture of a lighthouse. Do all puzzles feature lighthouses? I'm a puzzle novice, forgive me.) I am starting to piece together people, experiences, and moments from my past in order to figure out my present. Questions--one major question in particular--have been occupying my entire mind for months now. Well, questions always occupy my mind. They occupy the minds of every human ever. Hmmm. What I'm trying to say is difficult because I am purposely being vague and vagueness leads to confusion. So. Where does this leave me? Oh right, putting pieces together.
It has been a fascinating and fearsome process. Taking an honest look at oneself is just asking for shit to hit the fan. All kinds of kooky issues and memories surface, ones that you either tried to actively drown or just passively forgot about out in the depths begin to wash up on the shore of your psyche. Watch out! Or rather, just watch. I need to remind myself often to just watch. I get swept away by disgust or desire, which leads me away from myself and into, simply put, suffering. Sometimes all I need to do let things happen as they will and observe without judgement.
It's time to come home.
It's time to stop turning my back on the lamp that is aching to guide me to where I need to go... Wherever that may be. The puzzle inside of me--that broken lighthouse--is patiently waiting for me to begin to fill in the gaps and create connections. Will I be okay with what is missing and mismatched? Maybe. Maybe there is no "missing" or "mismatched." Maybe the imperfections are perfections (and the perfections are imperfections). But I guess I'll have to just wait, watch, and see.