It’s June 15th, 2014.
One year ago today, I boarded a plane bound for Bangkok to start what would be the summer that would change my life.
Looking back now, it was already in transition.
When isn’t it, really?
But it would be the final blow from the wrecking ball knocking down the already crumbling bricks of my makeshift life.
There is a line in the Andrea Gibson poem “Gospel Salt” that sticks with me, reminds me that there is purpose in the lowest points of life:
I am already shaking like a matador’s hands shook
in that 1906 California earthquake when 28,000 buildings fell
and the people said,
“When 28,000 buildings fall do you know how many walls are no
The crumbling, tumbling, collapse of a life once known is never pleasant, rather it’s utterly terrifying. And just as with the destruction of a home, a business, a community, it often inspires angst, anger, tears, frustration.
And after the crumbling is complete, the rubble must be taken away. Piece by piece the broken fragments of what once seemed safe are tossed aside.
But suddenly, where once were ruins, is nothing but open space. Only then can a new foundation be laid.
Then slowly, brick by brick, a new building rises from the very ground that shook it.
This rebuilding process, it’s slow.
But I see now that what was there before was nothing more than a carefully constructed castle of sand, made to look grand, stately, able to stand on its own. When really, the slightest of quakes could cause it to fall.
Now, in its place, a palace of the finest stone is taking shape, each stone holding the other in place when the quaking comes.