Middles have been on my mind quite a bit lately. I feel relatively middle aged, I'm in the middle of many dear friendships, Mr. Rubiy and I are deep in the heart of our marriage and our family as well as his military career, and I'm in the middle of managing my health. Middles can be frustrating, especially when an end isn't necessarily guaranteed. But, for the most part, I've found that middles are tremendously satisfying. Middles are predictable, but with room to grow. I loved being in my early twenties when everything felt new and possible. I was ready to work hard to create my life. Now, I work no less hard, but the peaks and valleys of newness have largely passed, and I'm free to enjoy the completely different work here in the middle.
my middle-of-recovering-from-surgery nest on the couch
I find, more and more, that middles are a comfortable and safe platform, from which I can launch into terrifying new things, but be assured of the calm support of the familiar. I'm certainly still changing, as a woman, as a wife, as a mother, and as a friend, but here in the middle, I know from where I'm coming.
the middle of several projects
My friend is graduating from Seminary, and being ordained, in May. I will hopefully travel to attend his first mass in his home parish, and stay with his family. We haven't seen each other since before my son was born (which is a very funny story, remind me later,) but we will be able to pick up where we left off, thanks to the friendship we have worked to establish. This particular middle is precious to me. It is a unique friendship forged in a dramatically common fashion, and I'm grateful for everything we have built together.
I'm also in the middle of some maddeningly complicated health issues. I am loathing the seemingly interminable parade of doctors, opinions, procedures, medications, and plans. In this particular middle, I'm unable to allow myself hope. This whole process has battered me to the point where the only emotion I can afford to spend is on acceptance, and rebuilding myself after being abused by yet another practitioner. This is a middle I would love to bid adieu, but that's not happening any time soon.
So, sitting here this afternoon, pondering the progression of things, I'm finding myself both comforted, and exhausted by the lack of endings. Sometimes the comfort is enough. But, in all these things, I'm grateful to have come as far as I have, and hope to go further.
some beginnings and some things that are finished