no wonder we are confused

I talked with a friend who was going on vacation. He forgot his laptop. He drove back home to get it. He got scolded.

But the vacation was as much a retreat, as much a time to think, as pure escape. And, like me, my friend thinks with his fingers.

I talked with a friend who was grieving a loss. A deep loss, the kind that, when you think about it, rips your guts. And he was talking about this loss pretty analytically. And feeling bad about it.

I reminded my friend that if he were a woodworker, he would go build something, lose himself in physical work. And we would look at that and think that was somehow noble grief. But my friend works with his mind, not chisels. He carves detailed arguments, he sands away imprecisions, he assembles understanding from carefully measured, Kilns-dried lumber. And so, of course, he is working out his grief with the tools he knows.

It is possible, of course, that I have odd friends.

It is possible, of course, that grieving and resting take acceptably different forms for different people.

It is possible, of course, that my friends understand how their brains work.

It is possible, of course, we are fearfully and wonderfully made.


(It is possible that someone caught the C.S. Lewis allusion and will win a copy of  “Poems”  – just because they tell me what the reference is.)


10 responses to “no wonder we are confused

  1. Hey, I’m no odder than befor. If I understood how my brain works, I certainly wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing now. And yes, I continue to be amazed on a daily basis on how fearfully and wonderfully made we all are.

  2. Colin Carmichael

    I’m a sucker for free stuff: is the allusion to Lewis’ “A Grief Observed”?

    Great post, too, and applies to many more stressors than grief… my laptop is my refuge.

  3. Danica Radisic

    The C.S.L. allusion = Kilns-dried lumber. As in The Kilns, Lewis’ house in Oxford where he concocted my childhood favorites, the Narnia series. Love the allusion. Will have to use it sometime!

    On a note having more to do with the subject: I am generally a thinker, but I find that crafting and physical work often help when I can’t digest a situation right away. I call it “reaching the ‘Eureka’ moment”.

  4. hey, Paul. So the first possibility is discounted. Most of my friends, however, are pretty sure that one of their friends is odd.

    Colin – A grief observed is the book I wanted to give away, but couldn’t find it on my self. And I will admit that is was running through my mind while talking with my friend, but Danica caught the intentional reference. And it does fit my friend.

    and to both of you. I walk to think, sometimes, but more often end up with a keyboard on my lap, writing to I see what I feel.

  5. I never seem to think while I walk. I end up feeling anxious. I want to BE. Getting there is half the fun. Not for me. Not sure why.

  6. As I grieved the loss of my mom 12 days ago, I wasn’t able to blog, due to the craziness of my sisters & I packing up her apartment. But now that I’m back at work (and swamped) – I innately knew the therapeutic value of my blogging, so I did a post this morning before work.

    Thanks for understanding the value of our blogging.

  7. Your friends are blessed to have you be the one they talk with when they grieve.

  8. I heard once, I think from Wayne D., “Let your emotions be like the passing seasons.” I like it because it lets you be in your feelings as you need to during periods of grief, sadness, anger. If you let them “flow” through, you may experience anger one moment, laughter the next. Freeing. It moves through you versus sticking around. 🙂 You are a great writer! Keep it up.

  9. Hi Jon. Not sure the etiquette / technicalities of “TrackBack,” but wanted to let you know I found this post helpful and freeing. Posted a link to it on my own.

  10. Amy – I am blessed with friends.