“Life,” Lucy tells Charlie Brown, “is like a deck chair.”
“Like a what?” asks Charlie Brown.
“Like a deck chair. Some people put their deck chair at the front of the ship so they can see where they are going. Some people put their deck chair at the rear of the ship so they can see where they’ve been. On the cruise ship of life, Charlie Brown, which way is your deck chair facing?”
“I haven’t figured out how to get mine unfolded yet.” says Charlie Brown
Unfolding The Deck Chairs of My Mind
There are days I feel like Charlie Brown.
Days I’m not sure of not just which way my deck chair is facing
But finding that I have several unfolded deck chairs!
Days when I realize that there is some much ‘unfolded’ stuff deep in my subconsious.
Yet buried deep within the dark recesses of my mind
The way I feel about the world around
And what I feel about myself.
Amazing how we can go through life
Leaving so much within us ‘unfolded’.
So many unsorted emotions
Plenty of memories that we don’t want to recall
Truths we don’t want to deal with
And parts of ourselves that make us uncomfortable.
So we live pretending that all is well
That no one has hurt us
Or if they have we’ve forgiven them completely
Living our perfect-because-it-hurts-to-be-vulnerable lives
In our perfect-I’m-above-it-all worlds
Because like the title of Kelly Oxford’s book
Everything Is Perfect When You’re a Liar.
The truth is that I want to get comfortable with my imperfection
Comfortable acknowledging that I’ve been hurt
Sometimes by the ones closest to me
I want to be authentic about the fact
That I still struggle with difficult memories
That I still let guilt win over grace
That I still long to be acknowledged
As being ‘me’ by my family of origin
No, not everything is perfect in my world
It never will be.
But I will continue to unfold
Those parts of me that I’d rather keep hidden
I’ll expose my vulnerablities
Because that’s the only way I can be authentic
The only way I can completely be Me.
And now I understand something so frightening and wonderful-
how the mind clings to the road it knows,
rushing through crossroads, sticking
like lint to the familiar. – Mary Oliver