Every year my mother's side of the family gathers at a picturesque lake in upstate New York. My family and I never went consistently, our trips being more sporadic than annual. One year, in particular, I went to Lake George with my arm in a cast. How I injured myself is a story for another time, but you can probably imagine how counterproductive it was to bring a young, energetic, and easily bored kid with a non-waterproof cast to a lake. (Cue canned laughter?) I spent what felt like most of the trip tackling puzzles, of what I don't remember, on a living room table in a stuffy cottage.
The frustration of finding two pieces that could fit together (but didn't quite) and the satisfaction of discovering a pair pushed and pulled me, both motivating me to find perfect matches.
I entered this world with everything scattered into one thousand pieces. Slowly but surely I find matches, pairs I would like to make fit, and pieces that will never belong to each other.
Over the course of time, I have begun to put the pieces together. I have felt what it's like to so wholeheartedly believe in and love the organization you are working for. I have felt what it's like to love and be loved. Even if these pieces were simply part of the deep blue background in an ocean scene, they centered me. They all at once reassured me and clued me in to the bigger picture. They give me hope that there's a point to all of the madness and that I can find my place in the world.
I also know what it feels like when the pieces don't match. When, as much as you try, you just can't make it work. You fool yourself into thinking that while the edges are rough, everything could be smoothed out. Your partner doesn't understand what "us" is worth, but one day, one day it will click for them. You desperately want to be part of a symphony, but you find yourself lost in a different rhythm. You spend your time at work counting down the seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, year until it's over, but you believe in the fundamental cause. You learn which pieces don't match, you're misled by the ones that seem to compliment each other.
I have enjoyed completing my fair share of puzzles throughout life... galloping horses, puppies lolling in a field, a baby deer in the meadows. I'm even working on a very artsy owl right now...
The frustration of finding two pieces that could fit together (but didn't quite) and the satisfaction of discovering a pair pushed and pulled me, both motivating me to find perfect matches.
I entered this world with everything scattered into one thousand pieces. Slowly but surely I find matches, pairs I would like to make fit, and pieces that will never belong to each other.
Over the course of time, I have begun to put the pieces together. I have felt what it's like to so wholeheartedly believe in and love the organization you are working for. I have felt what it's like to love and be loved. Even if these pieces were simply part of the deep blue background in an ocean scene, they centered me. They all at once reassured me and clued me in to the bigger picture. They give me hope that there's a point to all of the madness and that I can find my place in the world.
I also know what it feels like when the pieces don't match. When, as much as you try, you just can't make it work. You fool yourself into thinking that while the edges are rough, everything could be smoothed out. Your partner doesn't understand what "us" is worth, but one day, one day it will click for them. You desperately want to be part of a symphony, but you find yourself lost in a different rhythm. You spend your time at work counting down the seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, year until it's over, but you believe in the fundamental cause. You learn which pieces don't match, you're misled by the ones that seem to compliment each other.
I have enjoyed completing my fair share of puzzles throughout life... galloping horses, puppies lolling in a field, a baby deer in the meadows. I'm even working on a very artsy owl right now...
