Conversations in the a.m. with S&S begin early, sometimes as soon as we have woken up and barely surfaced – well some of us more than others! And its a gaggle of laughter, wisdom and banal details about our life all squashed into the little time we have before we each disappear into the chaos of our respective mornings at work.
The conversations are solid. Like gold. And invariably they’re peppered with seemingly simple but loaded words, casually, almost carelessly thrown into the midst of the banter and mad laughter.
Like bird feed, scattered around for us to pick up and munch on mindfully, slowly, at any time of day. Many times remnants of some of these conversations linger with me like the sweet taste at the end of chewing on a piece of tamarind.
But they’re just words, strung together like beads on an abacus string. Mix them up, push them sideways and measure them up any way you like. And so we hang on to them, inhale, exhale, ruminate, regurgitate, and let it go. Once we have taken everything we needed from them.
Today’s nugget will stay with me for a while. I don’t know if they realised just how intensely meaningful it was for me to be told, to be reassured, that: my pain is valid.
How sweet is it to be able to show someone the bruise on your bum with as much ease as it is to send out a voice note that’s struggling to come out because of a snot filled nose and a heart that’s jammed with tears? And how wonderful is it to realise that the ears and hearts listening at the other end will, in all probability, distill the entire mess into a tiny little seed and plant it deep within your soul.
I’ve never thought of pain as valid or even necessary. Until we had that conversation. I’m always so quick to brush aside pain, shirk it, protect myself from it. But sometimes pain is a seed. Plant it, and every day thereon water it, talk to it, and watch it transform into a full, lush tree.