The howling wind through my open window found its way into my dreams this morning. I awoke with the harsh realization that what I thought were crashing waves on a Tahitian beach was merely an obnoxious vortex of fast moving air – the kind of wind we encounter all too often here in my Roxborough neighborhood. I open one eye and look at the clock with the hopes that it’s still the middle of the night, but the clock reads 4:59 a.m. I have one minute left before my alarm bells cheerfully and incessantly ring to remind me that “It is time to run.”
I grab my phone and check my email. I open the one from Runcoach while the blissful beach dream quickly fades from my memory. I’m actually satisfied with what my cybercoach has prepared for me on this Thursday. Today, I will run a long, slow run which will be nice considering that this wind will surely push me around a bit. As I stand on my driveway cueing my music and setting my Runcoach app, I am saddened by the mess the wind has made. There is trash whirling around the cul-de-sac – paper that has been deposited in bushes, cardboard boxes that are pinned against my fence, and aluminum cans that are rolling into the storm drain. It’s a mess. Then, I look at the house across the street and remember that sad mess while the memories of Galina come rushing at me like the fast-food wrappers flying past my ankles.
The house across the street is no longer occupied by Galina and her husband. They moved out a month ago without even so much as a wave. At first, I was hurt, but it only took me a few moments of self-reflection to remember their devastation and why they had to move. You see, in October, their son who was also my son’s friend, was found dead in his dorm room. He had decided that this life was too hard to bear. In a breath, his parents, my neighbors who I hardly knew, had to try to make sense of the senseless. My heart ached for them – I was wrecked and undone and the crazy part was that I didn’t even know them. But, I know me. And, because I know me, I think I know most humans – we are all pretty much wired the same way. If we are all honest with ourselves, we are all a mess.
As I run out of the neighborhood, I think about the messiness of life and watch the wind flex its muscles – gates blown open, potted plants tipped over, and patio furniture uprooted. I recall how, even while navigating my own messy life, I thought I could help Galina. At first, I didn’t think I did anything to help her except impose my mess on her. On many separate occasions, I visited with a card, a teddy bear, cookies, and then a book. I said virtually nothing every time – uttering “I’m sorry…I wish…I hope…please let me know…” And every time the tears would flow. As I would step off her doorstep, I would chastise myself. “You are incapable of being a support, a rock, a shoulder to lean on. You are a mess. How can you help anyone?”
Around mile three, I’m trying to shift my thoughts about Galina and my failure to help her. It’s then that a song comes on that hasn’t hit my playlist in months. It’s called “Mess” by Ben Folds Five. The irony is too hard to comprehend as I remember how symbolic this song was for me just prior to and during my divorce. I played this song over and over as I drove to and from the courthouse filing documents and statements – each time hoping that maybe I would hear something new in the words. Back then, I didn’t believe in God, but I think I believed in something – I needed something. Sadly, this was the evangelism I heard in the vocals of Ben Folds Five:
“And I don’t believe in God
So I can’t be saved
All alone as I’ve learned to be
In this mess I have made.But I don’t believe in love
And I can’t be changed
All alone as I’ve learned to be
In this mess
I have made… the same mistakes
Over and over again.”
“Mess”
At the time, I thought my life was falling apart. I was certain nothing could save me. I had no faith. I had no hope. I had no loving God to turn to. I could not be saved. It was the most desperate I’d ever felt. But, after my divorce, I played the “brave soldier.” I was the perfect, pulled together single-mom-of-three. I had it together. Thank God no one knew what a mess I was underneath. Yes, I had fooled them all, but I was exhausted.
Around mile five of my windy run, the filmstrip of my mind focuses on that day I was standing in Galina’s threshold asking her if she’d like to take a walk with me. “We don’t have to talk. We can just walk. Just get out in the fresh air.” I’ll never forget what she said in her Eastern European accent, “I’m a mess. I cannot even leave the house without medication. I don’t think I’m ready to go for a walk.” Oddly, I felt validated. She wasn’t the only one that was a mess – but she had no problem admitting it. It endeared me to her even more. Her admission of being a mess allowed me to feel okay with my mess. I felt like her honesty allowed me to be honest. We finally had a bond. Our bond was our mess.
I ran into Galina at the grocery store a month before she moved out of the neighborhood. This was the first time she’d actually approached me. She was smiling. She was walking with her head up. “Callie, I wanted to tell you that I read the book you gave me from the pastor. I didn’t think it would help me but I read it anyway. And now, I cannot stop reading. I read everything I can. And, you know what? I feel better. Every day, I feel a little better.” I couldn’t utter a word. I just let the tears flow. That day, Galina saved me “from this mess I have made.” Hers will always be the voice I hear when I hide my messiness from the world. Our story is living proof that we are so much more lovable when we admit that we are broken – when we can embrace our mess and find peace in the imperfect.
