Which years of your life would you define as ‘The Hard Years’ and what got you through them?
There is not one block of my life that I would call The Hard Years. There have been more than a few. Of these, there were three on which I look back and wonder how I survived them.
Each of these hard blocks had their own pain points and characteristics. I like to lump them together and refer to their sum as the cadence of the block. Though not strictly a perfect word to use, yet this comes closest to how I see the sum of the elements which make up that block.
There is no point getting into the whats and whys of those blocks. They happened when they were needed, to do what they were meant to do.
They shook me to the core and made me consider aspects of life that I would never have considered if I didn’t have to snap my eyes open after the vigorous shaking.
I wasn’t too pleased with the multiple rounds of character building, you can be sure about that. Overly excessive it was, I felt at that time. I would rather have had the constructive and corrective feedback supplied to a few worthier people around me. But no, Shiva decided I was to be the sole-recipient. Not nice of Him, as I’ve said.
You can argue with Shiva but you can’t win. He just smiles and leaves you to lump it all. I lumped it, duly kicking and screaming.
In hindsight, I am embarrassed to see the need for those shake-downs. They were needed. I hate to admit this, but I must. But, the shake-downs could have been delivered with a lighter hand… a little gently… if you know what I mean. After all, I’m on His team, aren’t I?
Having said that, I realize that gently might not have worked with me. If you didn’t know, I’m as knuckle-headed a woman as ever drew breath. I’d have resisted and dug my heels in for ages. I don’t want to look back to the years preceding the hard years, but I bet that’s what I was doing which is why the rude shake-down had to be activated. It’ll make me look a bit of an ass, if it is true. And that’s a big IF.
What got me through?
Let me tell what was not the reason I got through the refuse-storm.
It was not because I wanted to be called brave or tough or any of those things. I have about as much affinity for being tough as nails as any normal woman. Let me put my feet up and dream away my life while some industrious do-gooder supplies me an endless variety of tall drinks. That’s about all I have the energy or inclination for.
What got me through was the lack of options. I had no other option but to get through those years. The other option was to go under, which everyone knows is no option at all. I may not be a up and about kind of a woman, but going under was never my style.
Perhaps that’s where the reason lies. That thing Ayn Rand called the style of the soul— the characteristic way a person’s deepest values, premises, and consciousness express themselves in everything they create.
To my style of soul, going under was unacceptable. It sounds too much like abandoning, like I was reneging on my life and its potential. Horrible thought. I couldn’t look myself in the eye if I did that.
With all visible evidence stacked against it, this compels a conclusion.
I love my life too much to consider giving up on it. I had to grit my teeth, raise an eyebrow and say, “Really? You think you can push me and I won’t push back? Go ahead and try your best.”
So that’s what I did. I fell a few times, my face in the mud. But wiped my face and got up. The bruises on my ego, indeed on my soul, wouldn’t bear examination. But I got up.
The first time I fell, I thought the whole world would stand around me and jeer. I thought I would never be able to live it down. I thought people would mock me for it for the rest of my life.
To my shock, none of it happened. People weren’t judging me. They were too busy wiping the mud off their own faces. That was one of the most essential lessons I learned. The second lesson, almost a corollary to the first, was empathy. I know how it feels to fall flat on your face in the mud. If I can, I lend a hand to help them get back on their feet.
The hard years? Yes there have been a few. Now I am harder.
I know Shiva chuckles.
Life grins.
I wipe the sweat from my brows and plod on.
