‘Stainback’ Potential

It’s January 22nd, the seventeenth year in the 2000s, and so much has happened.

Not only is it the first month in the new year, but outside of the continuing battle with my wayward mind, and the selling of our first home, among many changes in our family dynamics, some good, some bad, the greatest change in dynamic is the leadership of this world.

Donald Trump is America’s president.

Yes, the man behind the infamous phrase of “You’re fired”, now has the top-secret codes to weapons I’ve probably never knew existed.  He is who ‘America’ has chosen; notice my emphasis on ‘America’.

Nonetheless, it is what it is, and unless he breaks a huge law (I don’t know how he has not done that thus far), shaming the existence of the constitution, because it wasn’t enough that he has shamed most of ‘America’ and then some, it looks as though he will be the leader of this ‘free world’ for the next four years.

My stomach hurts.

But, I digress; slightly.

So, yesterday was the huge women’s march all across the nation.  A march to emphasize and publicize the sheer disdain for Trump’s thoughts, as well as actions in regard to women, including their treatment.  It was nice to see such a huge turnout of women of various backgrounds, coming together in a time that has seem to have caused great divide in the land, but the out pour of love shown through social media (as I did not participate), was immense.

I stand for the same values that the women’s march was created by, but just wasn’t able to participate physically, with my current state of mental health.  Instead, I did something enjoyable for the first time in a long time, which made me feel more in tune with those above said values more than ever.  It’s been a while to where my brain would even be quiet enough, to allow pleasurable thoughts of doing certain activities, to flood my constant mental stream of dejection with life, so I had to react to the eerie prompt.

Processed with VSCO with x1 preset
clawfoot tubs are an insatiable luxury from the 19th century

I’ve always loved interior design, HGTV, home decorating, and the like.  So, though the thought to go house hunting or looking for fixer uppers around town might have been long over due, it was far from foreign.

I found a cute little cottage style house, built in the 1930s, located in the heart of East Nashville, a prominent hot spot in the greater Nashville Metro area.

My husband has always had the entrepreneurial itch, lately for flipping houses, which through my scared eyes looked like a bad idea, risky to say the least, but my mind was changed when I saw a few photos of this dilapidated home on realtor.com.

I loved it.

There were stains on what looked like glitter lined wall paper, concerning cracks in the ceiling, and mounds of dark residue of God knows what and how, but through all of the ugliness, the rich, as well as beautiful history shined through.

Those thick, architecturally dated, but regal trim and base boards, with french doors and hard ware out of a scene of an old Dick Clark film, were phenomenal and filled me with a feeling so grand, that it took me a moment to step back and relish in the current state of affairs.

Joy washed over me; unspeakable joy, the kind of joy that is supernatural, not knowing how it got there, but appreciative of where it came from.

That is what I felt, as I walked across the sunken foundation in the kitchen, and brushed my finger tips against the smoothness of the aged hardware on the doors.

I get moments of clarity like this sometimes, but not as grand as this moment felt like.

Thank God for that moment.  Thank God that I was able to put on my clothes, with less push back compared to times past, thank God I was able to have more motivation to get in the car to get myself to that old house, thank God for the medicine I agreed to take (the third one, I might add) to take a chance on myself getting better, and thank God for that old house.

It was worn, like me.  It was scarred, like me.  Yet, there was beauty and resilience shinning through, just like me.

And just like me, I know there is someone out there that knows what kind of joy I speak of in this post.

Step out on chance, take a leap of faith on getting better, whatever healthy alternative that may be.  Listen to your mind when it tells you it feels bad, listen to your mind when it quiets enough to say it wants a little piece of joy; then go follow whatever brings you joy. •

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