The Safety Mirage

Almost as if in rejoinder to my last post, I had a dream last night of safe harbor.

Ironic, considering I spent my last waking moments at DEFCON1. And I don't even know what to say about that anymore. As Fr M always tells me, if it were easy, it would be heaven on earth, and that's just not what we have.

It leaves me resolved to fix what's broken, but then again, if it's not me (and in this case it's not), then I have to lead the horse to water and hope he drinks.

But the horse is my mulish 11-year-old boy; I'm not optimistic.

And that voice in my dreams telling me it's going to be all right is coming from a suspect source. Which means there's something else in play and I need to watch my step.

I think of where we were, hiking in the woods together and spending time talking, and for a little while, I felt like the world was a beautiful place. And a safe place, connecting where we were to the associations I have with being there.

Therein lies the problem; Nic was in one place, telling me a story of a well-loved narrative, and my head was elsewhere, no doubt in some happy place of my creation.

What happened later just affirmed the actual here and now, minus masks, props, and scenery.

I need to *be* here, because there is so much to do. Hubby throws up his hands. And I bend down, prepared to get dirty, because I know precisely what needs doing. Except I keep hoping I don't have to. I don't want to. This is *hard*.

Understanding, again, the respite I get isn't so much that as an opportunity to recharge. Because I need to. Because the work doesn't stop. And because I need to gather the strength to accomplish what needs doing. And thinking about other stuff helps me problem solve.

And sometimes, it's just a nice distraction.

I think I've finally learned how to differentiate one from the other.

Game on.