I love traveling. But when I've been gone for a while, I start daydreaming about the first shower I will take at home. I miss knowing the exact spot to turn the tap to get the temperature I want, what the water pressure will be (and that I won't run out of hot water), standing in the shower seeing my full sized bottles of shampoo, conditioner, body wash. As the water runs down my body, I feel like it washes off not only the grime and dirt of the plane, the car, my previous location, but also any tiredness, disconnect, or confusion I may be feeling as a result of my trip. The water reminds me of who I am, what I've forgotten about myself while travelling. It's when I start using the muscle memory of my normal life again. Home becomes the reality, and my trip becomes a memory.
Yesterday I was preparing to run errands, when my roommate brought up a relationship that I've been struggling with for over a year. There's pain I thought I'd worked through, but she (rightly) felt that more forgiveness was needed. As we talked, we both began to cry: pretty little streams trickling down her checks, big ugly sobs shaking my shoulders. I hadn't cried like that in a year, which is a long time to go without a soul shower. Crying is muscle memory for my heart-- it reminds me of who I am, and the feelings associated with being human: pain, sadness, forgiveness. I had been trying to block these feelings out, but to do so is to deny my humanity. I am not ceramic: hard, repellant, breakable. I am made of clay: soft, absorbent, pliable. Sometimes I need to be reminded of that, because sometimes I forget. Fortunately, I have roommates and tears to help me along.
Syncrobloggers strike again! This is a post on the subject of Water. Read my fabulous friends' fabulous essays here.
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The thing I love about those great, wracking sobs is the physical ache that comes later, reminding me that crying is an act of the body as well as the soul.
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