An earthquake hit you and broke some things. It rattled your bones and jostled this and that around. But you’re strong, it didn’t crack your foundation. In fact, the kids thought it was kinda fun, and a little bit scary. They remain in ignorant bliss.
But as I survey the state of you, I find that the disarray has exposed something deep about what you were built for. This outside force of nature somehow penetrated the glossy, protective surface we imposed on you as we altered you to provide and shelter us. In the process, we ignorantly used you in ways you were never meant to be. We’ve just been doing what we thought we needed, just following the guides on “how to build a home.”
As I stare at the TV smashed on the floor of the living room from the quake, I try to imagine what repair looks like. This time around, it isn’t just “replacement.” I’m not as easily blinded by what I considered this room to be for because the entire room has been shaken.
As I stare, I can almost hear your rage and grief as I hung that TV directly in your heart, a place you’re purposefully built for fostering natural warmth and quiet gathering by your beautiful fireplace, and I replaced it with manufactured noise. Through my imposition, it now fosters personal isolation, and escape. “What the fuck are you doing? That’s not what this is for!” You scream as we merrily continue our ideas of you and your nature.
But you didn’t know how to speak, so we didn’t hear you, and we were too naive to see what we were doing with our best intentions. You just did what you always do, give unyieldingly.
As I continue to look at you and the damage that was done, I also see many of the beautiful things you have provided us. After all, this earthquake didn’t fundamentally damage you, it just re-arranged you. I see the safety in your walls, the comfort of your embrace, the funny noises you make, all of the effort you’ve put in to provide our family all the beautiful things in life. The marks on the wall from our kids drawing where they weren’t supposed to… those can stay. You were also built for this.
I’m going to grieve the late night movies in your living room, but I look so much more forward to the family gatherings centered on the warm fireplace, the kids focusing on the people in the room instead of manufactured addiction streaming from one of the walls.
So I start picking up the pieces, and rebuilding what we call home. This time, I have a lot more intention in doing it alongside your nature. I know we’ll still have an imposition on you based on what we want and need, but I’ll be a lot more careful on how it impacts you. I can’t express how thankful I am for the support and safety you’ve provided this family, and I’m so excited to see how much better it is when your true beauty is expressed and not covered up.
If you can talk, know I’ll always be listening. If you can’t, please know I’m a little bit better at seeing you.
You’re our home, you were built for us, and we love you.