Epiphanies, like feeling the presence of God, food in your belly, or Oprah, come and go. The exact moment that you feel it, you are transcendent, looking above it all. And then just as quickly the lights dim and the burnt edges of the moment fade as quickly as an UNDO on a horrible photoshop action. Reality is restored. But you hold on to that epiphany, that brush with the divine (I suppose this could apply to God or Oprah), that feeling of fullness for as long as you can, to keep in the coffers for the darkness that's to come.
Sadly, so many of my epiphanies come in the most embarrassing of ways.
If you've been following my blog since my bravejournal days, you know that I went through this phase with LOST. Where, living in a studio apartment on the other side of the country, those characters were my closest friends, and we had this one extraordinary thing in common: we were forced to examine the question- if you have lost everything that used to define you, who are you?
At the time that LOST ended, I had been engaged a month, and it all felt so fitting. They were no longer lost, and neither was I. That was such an easy thing to wrap into a box, and tie with a ribbon.
booooo boxes. John Locke could have told you that.
In fact, many times in the past year I have felt lost. Or perhaps, more accurately, I felt like an immigrant with a very poor map. I had journeyed into the well established Land of Marriage, Mortgage, and Long Term Employment, and I'm still learning the language, or rather, I'm still speaking some hybrid pidgin. (oh how I love a good pidgin language.)
Getting off the bus this morning at my office, at the sunrise hour of 7:27, I slid past a man watching the final scene of LOST on his smartphone. I left the bus as they boarded the plane. My heart actually started pounding. I felt a flood of emotions not necessarily related to the show, but triggered by it. Of being alone, of asking questions of myself, of being engaged. I remembered the life lessons of the past 4 years in a single instant.
In my frustrations of learning how to navigate permanence, loss of friends, gaining of family, questions about what I am really doing with my life, I threw myself against a door and it opened. I remembered why I was here. and the here is pointless. Who is everything.