My mind shattered into thousands of tiny pieces on the floor. The senses and motor functions were the only bits left attached to one another. It floated in a blank void before me. I stood there in wonder as I studied each fragment; reading, gardening, hikes, beach walks, family, friends, YouTube, writing, and other random bits of what I thought I enjoyed laid out beneath.
My brain stripped to its primal functions with nothing left to enjoy.
No longer did I feel like me.
No longer did I create.
The large piece that was made up of family and friends called to me. They made up the core of who I was. I picked them up and placed them onto the bare brain. They attached themselves without fuss. They knew that they belonged.
The next biggest fragment was writing. I held the piece in my hands feeling the energy that overflowed from deep within. I had enjoyed this craft long before any of the others. I loved and hated this desire. It was pain and hardship, also my greatest pleasure. It fit snug behind a family. With only the three chunks in place, my mind was almost put back together. I studied the other thousands that laid out on top of the floor.
How would I they all fit? Would they all fit?
A waft of fresh forest air filled my nose as the fragments of the outdoors beckoned me. Swimming, hiking, camping, gardening, and campfires all fit back nicely. All the fun outdoor activities I enjoyed as a child, teen, and adult would never be left behind. I’d always need them.
I plucked tiny fragments and collected them in my hands. Music, painting, knitting, and candle making… one by one I stuck them to the brain. One by one they fell back to the floor. Confused, I picked up my newest hobby, YouTube. I made a channel in hopes to share my experience of adoption with my family and friends. I’ve worked hard on it for a year with hopes to connect with other adoptive families. I placed it to the brain in hopes it would stick. I wanted it so badly to fuse like the others. It dropped heavy to the floor. I reached for it again. I pulled and tugged but the fragment would not lift. Anger heated my face as I kicked it. Even then, it remained in place.
Defeated, I deflated to the floor with my hands outstretched above me. The brain was far from complete. Why would it not go back together? What was I missing?
My hand slapped the floor beside me. Pain ripped up my hand as blood began to spill from it. I sat up to examine my stupidity. There in the palm of my hand was a small shard. When I pulled it out I noticed it was all the books I read as a child. Puzzled, I glanced at the pile my hand struck. YA, fiction, nonfiction, historical, Manga, and all the other books I had ever read were all clumped together in a messy heap. I sucked the wound while the other hand rested on the books. A large fragment formed under the touch creating a forgotten love of mine. Reading.
It fit perfectly on the front of the brain. That left a small sliver in the back and middle to be filled. I scavenged the shattered piece for what it might be… Tried fashion, carpentry, social media, fitness, and cooking. Nothing seemed to work.
My career was a bigger piece then I expected. Cracked and dulled. I used to be enthusiastic about my job. As time wore on, I wore out. I didn’t expect it to click into the middle as smoothly as it did. The dreariness faded into a vibrant joy once again as it absorbed the energy from my other passions. It was only then I realized that my job as an Early Childhood Educator used my other skills. My love for people, reading, the outdoors, and writing all had a purpose in my career.
A silver sliver caught my eye as I admired the livelihood of my mind. It belonged to my secret love. Mechanics.
My mind was complete. And yet, thousands of fragments remained. Heavy cloudy pieces. I had pulled my attention in too many directions. These were all causing me to lose focus on what I truly enjoyed. But, they were not a waste. All of them belonged in my experiences. I balled all of them up and tucked them into my past. Things I have tried but won’t bother lifting again.
This story is about my one o’clock in the morning realization. (Yes, it’s that early as I type this.) I’ve put too much on my shoulders. Too many expectations. I need to give my mind a break. I no longer want to be a Jack-of-All-Trades Master of None. I want writing to be my main goal. I long to master it. So, I’ve decided to buckle down on my true craft.
Wicked Soul Ascension
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