RENEW THEIR STRENGTH

An email went round today, suggesting we keep an eye out for items in the office that are ‘old, tired, or broken.’

Someone told Erica that she should make sure she knew where I was, in case I accidentally ended up in the skip.

I laughed it off at the time. But you know what, it’s kind of awful isn’t it? They apologised and then awkwardly fumbled that they didn’t quite know why they had said it. And to give them their due, that couldn’t have been easy. But we all know what words are like, and where they come from.

I convey something. Either in demeanour or appearance, I convey something, and I dislike it. Old. It’s more than grey; it’s an attitude. And yet, I don’t think I am. At least not really. I try not to be set in my ways about anything, and I still feel like I’m flexing into who I actually am. But somehow, because I remember Thundercats and Bagpuss and Sticklebricks and Um Bongo... I count as Gandalf the Grey in my corner of the Shire.

Tired. Well yes. The heat over the last few weeks has stolen my sleep and broken my eyesight. I’m exhausted. But nobody sees the lion or the bear in the shadows. How could they know? Even youths grow tired and faint. It’s no indication of anything.

And broken. Yeah, I suppose so. But they’d be surprised why, I reckon. I think a lot of people would. And also, surprised at the strength that flows through brokenness. You haven’t lived until you’ve been broken.

I dislike the joke though. Still, I have to take that thought captive, and be the answer I’m looking for. I don’t want my sadness to overflow to those around me, and I don’t want them to cut me off to protect themselves from it either. And so.

I need to grit my teeth and shut down the hatches for a while. I need to be strong and certain, and less miserable. I need to fight the old, refresh the tired, and fix the broken. I need to soar on wings like eagles. I need to wait.