Rubble

Last night, as I lay in bed trying to go to sleep, I had an image of myself sitting in a pile of rubble.  The rubble was my base of academia, my life of academia.  It’s been devastated and I’m left just sitting in all of this dust, bricks, rebar, wondering what to do.  I’m not sure where to start with clean-up or rebuilding.  It’s all so huge.  But that’s where I feel like I am in life—rebuilding.  I’m rebuilding my idea of what is important in life, what I want to do with my life, where I fit in and where I can be to feel important.  Actually, I’m not at the rebuilding phase yet.  Like I said, I don’t know where to start.  I can’t even imagine a new life, I can’t imagine what this new building would look like or even what type of building I want. 

This evening I went out with a friend and talked.  She is really good at giving me hope.  I was telling her about my rubble metaphor and she suggested that I don’t worry about cleaning up; that I should just build somewhere else.  Hmm.  Interesting idea.  Where should I go to rebuild?  That idea has so many more possibilities than sitting around, trying to clean up and start over again.  Cleaning up would mean I pick up one brick and remember everything I loved about that brick; I'd never be able to throw it out and move on.  I really need to find a new place to build.  That idea has hope and possibility.  Those are good things to fight depression with.