Odd title, I know. I like to think that mine is wooden, with gaps large enough to climb through. The fence I am referring to is the one you created throughout your life, it is your story, your history. Many of us pretend not to have a past and prefer to cut all ties. Does that mean it has any less of a guiding influence? Perhaps that's invisible fencing that gives us a shock when we stray too far anyway.
Other people have a solid brick fence many feet high. It is sturdy and safe and keeps them in place. Some are like prison walls though, and are meant to keep people out: no change allowed. Or maybe no challenge allowed.
To what extent are we defined by our past? Lots of us like to move somewhere new, start over again, and while extreme it can be liberating. I know a child who was caught in the reputation of scrapper, picking on people, starting fights. Through family shifts this child moved schools and was able to shed that jacket and start again, and created a whole new image that felt much better. How great is that? But a man I know killed a step-father defending his mother. Prison and guilt destroyed him and he lives in search of another bottle, completely unable to move beyond the circular glass wall in which he has enclosed himself.
What about maintenance? Do we plough onwards, neglecting what's behind and paying attention only to what's ahead? Here come the cows over the broken fence to consume all we have sowed. Where is that balance point between maintaining who we have been, cherishing our old stories, and planning ahead to see where we are headed? If we see a mountain ahead, do we just sigh and keep at it, or look for another way to build or direction to go? I'm pretty sure my fence has crumbled in a few places and starts again some ten metres away.
Some of us have very prickly fences that have wounded us terribly. Physical or emotional scars will remain. What do we do with that structure, where bits of our flesh still hang off the barbed wire?
My story has been pulled from the past a few times lately. Once by the exercises in the course I am doing, and now with a visit with my mother. It feels weird. I see that I have tried several different structures that start and stop, and that they are falling for the most part into disrepair. Sometimes I have not wanted to go visit back there, afraid to face the old emotions that tend to rear up, but today I have read some advice and it goes like this: go back and visit your story. It is your story. Have compassion for yourself and release old pain without getting caught up in the story. We must give meaning to our story because it is ours alone, and from this meaning we can move forth helping other people to learn too. We are all imperfect, we all could use more compassion. It's time to plant some flowers along the fence line and take ownership. There's no other story like yours, like mine. And what child does not love to hear stories of parents or grandparents when they were little? Or even their own? My kids love to hear over and over again what they did as little ones. No matter how silly. It's a perfect opportunity to help them build their fence. What does yours look like?
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