Feb 23 2010
Half empty, half full, or not there
In an alcoholic anonymous website, somebody once wrote: I don’t know if the glass is half-empty or half-full, I can’t find the glass! Upon reading this clever line, I realized that in fact there is a third option to pessimism and optimism…absence. Maybe there is a glass, or maybe there isn’t. Whether it is empty or full, that again is a matter of perspective.
I have spent most of my weekend classifying books and deciding what to keep and what not to keep. Like an obsessed librarian, I was forced to open my own catalog of reading, my chronology of life through books. Moving out is certainly a time-consuming process, but it is also enriching. It forces us to pause when we cannot, because we are fighting our own lack of time, to look at what we are leaving behind. Some people are fortunate (or unfortunate?) enough to take themselves with them in their journeys. This time I am not. I have made a decision to take only the necessary part of me. Some of these books will make it to Houston initially, but others will have to wait for me to either take them, leave them or retrieve them if life sews a more permanent path to good ol’ Texas.
Yes, I decided to travel light. I want to live with less instead of more. I want to find the glass. I have been wanting to do that for quite a while, but something stopped me…it must be the reluctance of all human beings to change, or the fear that if we let go of things, of people, we will feel the emptiness. As I look back on the half-empty bookcase, I would say that it all depends on how you leave. It is not so much about the act of departure but about the way in which we go. Most of the time we escape — and believe me, I have been there — but sometimes, if we do the homework that life sprinkles here and there between the pages of our own mysterious book, there is a fair chance that leaving will be an action of growth instead than a side door to more of the old self.
The two bookshelves that remain to be cleared before they find a new home at my mother’s contain the effort of growth that stemmed out of the need of fleeing far away, where no old ghosts of bad family love could find me. Something good came out of escaping, but it only did when I had the courage to come back and face the demons I thought I had left behind.
W: Interesante que no haya vaso siempre huí de esa metáfora. Partir, irse es complejo, se enfrenta uno quiera o no, al desarraigo es decir a uno mismo. Cuando el entorno cambia, uno permanece y se hace dificultoso ahi escaparse a la mirada de uno mismo….estoy segura igual que UD, saldrá airosa de eso, si pudo enfrentarse a la imagen de las bibliotecas vaciadas, esta casi lista para todo…..
Triste pic…!!
Saludos
ha viajado liviana, finalmente?
ha encontrado algún vaso?
como Mrs. E., no me gusta la metáfora pero sí creo que el vaso es necesario.
es necesario un continente. podría ser gondwana. no es mandatorio pensar en américa.
que god bless gondwana y que el viaje sea liviano. lo leído será reencontrado – o no -, y el vaso se volverá a llenar cada vez que el garguero lo requiera.
también hay que aprender a tener sed.
saludos,
v.
Hello, there!
Yes I have…with a dog arriving one day later, as you probably know. Life here seems to be slowly designing a glass, which is odd and yet comforting. Lots of things are weird for the little guy who owns a house and a bed while I don’t, and lots of things are weird for me, but we are growing into the new life, no matter how long it lasts.
Thanks for dropping by and leaving your imprint here. It’s a pleasure to hear from you. You are perhaps right, a continent is always necessary and that is why modern catastrophes leave us stranded and make us feel so vulnerable in today’s world. Maybe because we long needed to reconnect with the fragile side of us, the one that gets blown away and obliterated by an earthquake…well, I’m not there yet, so I guess I do have a continent.
Thank you for passing by, sincerely.
Regards
W.
Emi, Dear Emi
I have taken my time to mull over your comment and today is reply day. Yes, I have looked at the empty bookcase and felt it was right to be so. How long this feeling will last, only life can tell, but today it feels right and I’m glad to be doing what feels right, regardless of the risks entailed.
I don’t know if there is a glass, to be honest. I think we can make the glass if we want that, but it is easier to blame external elements (like the liquid that capriciously decides to stay or leave its container). Half-empty, half-full, maybe I simply am in between, because that can sometimes be a natural state.
I’m sending you a deep hug from a rainy night in Houston, and I hope I can re-post soon and keep this thread going between us like this along with all the other forms of friendship we have grown familiar with.
W.