Grief and the second childhood.

I spent yesterday at Disneyland with my son, Justin. Having fun. Eating. Waiting in lines. And according to the pedometer on my smartphone… we walked almost ten miles. I ate a pickle. I ate beignets and got powered sugar all over my black shoes.

And I thought about all this writing and painting and bopping around from state to state I have done. Am I trying to “find myself” all over again? Is this that teenage existential search for why I am here, and what am I to do, and who am I? All the time on facebook and on blogs… engaging in this discussion, or that argument, or this conversation.

What am I, 12? Again? And yet I want a cookie and hug and another turn on another ride. And too quickly I became tired as the sun went down and we had to head home.

I think in a lot of ways, grief is a reducing force… a reduction of  those things that made me a certain and stable adult. A reduction back to the basics… to asking basic questions and engaging in basic interactions. Trying on different things. Looking. Seeking. Back to childhood. It is a humbling force that takes me backwards… to those questions both answered and unanswered… and now re-asked… re evaluated… about who I am and what is important. And over and over again, I pick up bits of my old life and turn them in the light and wonder if I should keep them or maybe not… maybe that isn’t who I am anymore.

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