floating lessons

Do we live in less idyllic times or are we creating life to be less than idyllic?

Every day before coming home from work, my mom called home to check up on her children.  Were her ducks all in a row, safe and sound?

A couple of times, I had to tell her that no, I was not fine and that I was having a crummy day.  The boy I was crushing on was maybe not as nice as I had hoped or my girl bestfriend was not quite being her bestest at being a friend.  Schoolwork and auditions were the easier parts of youth.  Handling bullies, gossipers and the typical weirdness of youth culture was not.

And mom would come home armed with balloons and candy.  I would have my cry and mom would listen.   She didn’t have a lengthy motivational speech and never a guilt speech to knock me outside of my misery.  She simply listened in a way that made me understand that I had to get myself through it and that she was there.   I would go to my room to think thereafter, a party of balloons floating above me and I would plan my next steps in handling things.   I rarely ate the candy.  Some of the lollipops were too pretty to eat.   I don’t really have a sweet tooth anyway.  I think I have a sweet eye instead.  I like to look at pretty things to cheer me up.

My childhood was filled with A LOT of balloons.

They are like countless memories of being given the gift and sense that everything will be okay.  That sense… in a tangible and recurring way.

By the time I was ready for college, those balloons were an invisible influence.  Hurdles and hiccups of life were relatively surmountable and I think I intimidated the boys more than they intimidated me.  I floated and care packages from mom were the new balloons armoring me for city life 3000 miles away from family.  A boyfriend once noted that I lived in such a way that my feet didn’t seem to touch the ground.  I’m only understanding what he meant now as I write of my mom’s balloon bouquets.

Life is different now.  There are bigger heartbreaks to recover from in a grown up world.  But my mom is still there.  She is my balloon.  The bouquet… my family and friends.

And when I must think through things and be alone….my bouquet floats about me making my life beautiful.

Do we live in less idyllic times or are we creating life to be less idyllic?

Be someone’s balloon.



~ by jnetsworld on January 8, 2013.


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