My mother told me once that I was very good with knots. I can untangle an embroidery thread without a snag and carefully pick the tangles out of a fine golden chain without snapping any of the teeny tiny links holding it all together. I’m good with knots.
But some are more difficult than others. The tangles of people’s reactions for instance, the spider web of reactions within reactions that lead to hurt feelings and trodden boundaries, those I’m not so good at – I’m too much of a drama queen and I bruise too easily.
If I sit down and look at the whole thing like a jigsaw puzzle…then sometimes I can figure out what piece goes where. But I still always worry that the chain is going to snap under the questing of my fingertips, and hearts aren’t as easy to put back together as embroidery threads.
Life out here is blissful and stressful at the same time, and sometimes you find yourself just so…tangled up; and you’re not quite sure how you got there; so you have to sit down and start working at knots again until your fingers get a bit numb and your brain goes a bit quieter.
And you can’t help but wonder how things get so…tangled.