THE TUCKED AWAY THING
The dilemma isn’t what to take, but what must not be left behind.
____________________
I had not expected to cry,
not the watery eyes that come from reading a sentiment pressed into a greeting card.
the stifling words kind.
Her text made a simple inquiry. What shall I see?
Texting back would be sacrilege—
To Paris
To my French ancestors
To me.
At hearing her voice, my own becomes consumed in tears.
Words. Engulfed in the infinite longing of six years.
I drench her in the beauty of blue-and-red stripped toy boats floating in a fountain, powered by squealing children swirling them about with a wooden stick.
I soak her in visions of mousse au chocolat, bowls big enough to bathe puppies in.
I baptize her in the splendor of winged angels carved into ancient stone.
I nearly drown myself in the longing for a place, a homeland, I stopped believing I would see again.
How does one carry a kind of belief in miracles that heals tumors and lesions and yet gives up on a future that includes all things?
Paris is bold like the baby girl my mama carried, and yet I allowed myself to tuck her away.
Like toiletries in an overstuffed suitcase.
Like mints in the bottom of a carry-on.
I think I realized the bold in me may have retreated a bit, today.
Did you know the human body can grow up to thirty-eight inches of hair in six years?
Almost an inch for every stair leading to the Basilique du Sacré Coeur where I lit a tiny votive candle for healing two years before everything changed—
Her stone fortress remains after 151 years.
My faith, like hers, still strong, vibrant, even arresting today.
But I had tucked away Paris. Like long hair. And mousse au chocolat.
Relishing in the memory.
Not regretting. But more…forgetting, maybe even something essential
as a toothbrush, or a passport, or the richest part of yourself.
What have you forgotten along the way?
Less to lose. Less to regret.
I had expected this [recent journey] might be permanent.
I hadn’t planned for the adventure of living a life beyond saving it—
One that exchanges blood on flat slides for ruby-colored stained glass.
One that expands beyond microscopic images to the magnificence of an ancient fortress.
I am that fortress.
Mighty. Splendid in my Design.
Who can take away Paris? Only I.
Maybe this is what startled the tears from somewhere I hadn’t known existed.
I had every intention of living. Of healing.
I had simply forgotten to imagine what I might do with all that life.
There are losses that come for us.
And then there are losses we create all on our own.
A little less wanting.
A little less planning.
A little less willingness to grow something that might have to be cut off again.
Less to lose.
Less to miss.
Did I call that peace?
Maybe somewhere I did.
But peace does not ask us to want less.
Six years is long enough to grow three feet of hair.
Long enough to return to Paris.
Long enough to stand beneath Sacré-Cœur and look up at the promise of her Cross—
One step,
and then another.
All that growth.
All that ascent.
All that more.
I hadn’t planned for the adventure of living a life beyond saving it.
I am now.
NOTES
SOUL MAP
her question → Paris → tears → longing → hair → less to lose → ascent → the fortress → more → HERE
The Soul Map I envisioned usually traces the places something happened inside us.
This one asks us to notice what is missing from the map.
There are things we release because they bind us.
There are things that remain, waiting for us to speak life over them.
And then there are the things we tucked away because somewhere along the way we stopped imagining.
Release what binds you → speak life over what remains → imagine what all that life is for.
That last one may be the hardest pin to drop.
Because the Tucked Away Thing is never obvious. It is unexpected revelation:
In a conversation with someone close and loved.
A return to a sacred place.
An activity that asks more of the body than we thought it could give.
A question we answer with unexpected tears.
It may take time for the Tucked Away Thing to make itself known.
You may even believe you have dispensed with it.
Outgrown it.
Made peace with it.
Decided it was unnecessary.
Or maybe disappointment made the decision. Maybe protection did.
The things we tuck away are not always grand.
They may even feel ridiculous. Impractical. Unnecessary.
Long hair.
Paris.
Mousse au chocolat.
REFLECTION
This week, don't answer too quickly. Just let it reveal itself.
What have you stopped wanting?
What once delighted you that you now describe as unnecessary?
What have you called acceptance that might be protection?
Where have you chosen less to lose without realizing you were also choosing less to anticipate?
What future have you stopped furnishing because you weren't certain you would get to live there?
What brings an ache you cannot quite explain?
When was the last time your response to something surprised you—tears, longing, recognition, an almost unreasonable desire to return?
And perhaps the question beneath all the others:
If you truly believed there was more—what would you allow yourself to imagine again?
DROP YOUR PINS
_____ → _____ → _____ → _____ → _____ → _____ → HERE
Maybe your map begins here:
release → speak life → imagine → _____ → _____ → _____ → HERE
And when something finally appears, don't ask first whether it is practical.
Ask:
Why did I tuck this away?
YOU ARE HERE.
Images [above + the ones below]:
My mama [Jacqueline Blanche] → Paris → 1955
Me [Janene Marie] → the same view → 2018
I had simply forgotten what to do with all that life—Janene Kraft