Jagged Edges

Jagged Edges

Jagged Edges 

Today marks 7 years no longer a slave to seizures, big pharma, or major medical intervention.  Cheers to being the one in a million that got away.  Sometimes I wonder if that one admittedly miraculous narrow escape burned a lifetime of luck.  I wonder about a lot of things.

Since today is a day I celebrate for reasons that most people don’t understand, I’m going to ramble a bit.  A bit more than usual, and not worry too much about any of it making any sense.  You’re welcome!

Jagged Edges
Jagged Edges

You don’t escape that sort of thing without having some jagged edges to show for it.  It’s like fighting your way out of a patch of thorn bushes to escape from a wolf.  You can lick your wounds later, after you’re not dinner for the wolf.  Like any good escape artist, I’ve learned to keep the attention of those around me focused on the sparkling spots I still have that shine up nicely, so that my sharp edges don’t glisten as much in the spotlight.  This year, I have mixed feelings about that act.  It has served its purpose well.  It has also had some crippling side effects.  In all likelihood, I may start to show my jagged edges more often.  Or at least hide them less…

My feelings about all of that aside, those sharp and/or jagged edges are still there.  Some of them…  many of them, dull with time.  Laughter dulls them, and recognizing blessings dulls them.  Family time dulls them.  The family dog at my feet dulls them.  Watching the sun set from my favorite spot on the entire planet, with my kids looking on along with me, dulls them a lot.  Camping trips and nights on the beach dull them.  Letting go of things that don’t matter, and holding on tight to things that do matter, dulls them.  Lots of things dull them, but they’re still there.  Even a dull jagged edge is still a jagged edge, and will be obviously recognizable as such to an onlooker.  Especially an onlooker who never saw the tragedy that created the jagged edges to begin with.

Jagged Edges
Jagged Edges

So be it.  Very few are dealt a perfect hand in life, so we all have our jagged edges.  And having them helps us to accept the jagged edges of those around us.  I think.  I hope?  It probably should more than it does.  I suppose.

In any case, here I am with my jagged edges and there you are with yours, and low and behold, when we try to hug it out, sometimes we just cut each other up.  We had good intentions, and we probably didn’t even realize what cut us.  If I could see your jagged edges, and/or you mine, we’d do some sort of awkward hugging thing where we’d try to get a heartfelt hug in there somehow without lacerating each other beyond what good the hug would do us both.  Therein lies the problem.  If you break a glass, or the wind rips a tree in half, or a bridge collapses…  you can see the jagged edges.  You can’t see them in people.  You can’t touch them or smell them or taste them or even feel them.  You have to spend a lot of time getting to know a person before you understand where their jagged edges are.  Even then, you just know.  You really can’t ever map them out or explain them in detail to anyone else.  It’s something you know because you took the time to understand.  You took the time to understand because you cared enough to, and because what was inside all those jagged edges was far more reward than any injuries you sustained getting inside.  That’s why the top of the mountain is so far up, why the beach is generally so far away, and why the rose has thorns.  Only those worthy of the rewards of the journey end up with the rewards of the journey.  Karma would have me believe that, anyway.

Jagged Edges
Jagged Edges

The problem becomes compounded when there are a lot of jagged edges, especially really sharp ones that time or dogs or kids or beaches or roses or sunsets haven’t worn down yet.  Sometimes we even surprise ourselves in finding new sharp edges we had no idea we had.  Where the hell did that one come from???  I thought this area was all polished up!?!  All too often, it seems, a few surprise lacerations are all it takes for most people to give up.  I’m not entirely sure I blame them.  I’m not entirely sure that I don’t.  I don’t like getting cut either.  I don’t jump anymore when it happens though.  Dunno if that’s good or bad.

Here’s what I do know…  the select few that keep coming back for hugs even though sometimes they get a little cut up in the process?  Keep those people.  Hug them really tight even if you get a little cut up sometimes yourself in doing so.  If you can count on one hand the number of people who know you well enough to feel their way through your jagged edges in their sleep, then you’re a very rich person.  They see themselves as rich people as well, because they know that what’s inside you is worth wriggling past the sharp edges for.

Jagged Edges
Jagged Edges

I remember one time when she was very young, Little Lady dropped a jar of coins.  Busted all over the kitchen floor.  We spent what seemed like forever sifting through that mess to get the coins separated from all the broken glass.  Truth be told, we were really broke back then and we didn’t have any choice but to dig through the mess.  I find myself thinking about that simple random event a lot these days though.  I truly believe that the people with the most jagged edges are also those with the most character.  They got their character by surviving the shattered glasses, the storms that splintered the trees, and the earthquake that collapsed the bridge.  That character is worth getting hug-cut now and then for.  In my humble opinion.

By the same token, if you retreat every time you get cut, and find yourself surrounded by lots of people who don’t (seem to) have many jagged edges, yet also don’t seem to have much character, well…  you get what you pay for.  Nothing worth having comes free or easy.

Jagged Edges
Jagged Edges

Recently, I have questioned my own philosophy about both my own jagged edges, and those of the people I seem to find myself most drawn to.  I know myself well enough to know that I’m not going to change how I do things.  I know that every day when I get the best hugs I’ll ever get from my two favorite humans, (my kids) they jump straight into my arms without even thinking about the jagged edges that might sting a little sometimes.  They know that what’s inside is well worth that minor flesh wound now and then.  I know that people who know how to hug me without getting cut are those that deserve what’s inside me most.  They took the time to perfect their cutless-hug techniques.

The things I don’t know, I wonder about with a great deal of mystery.  The things I do know, I know very well.  That’s what I know today, after 7 years of polishing my jagged edges.

Cheers from The www.ThreeFiveZero.com Edges

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