In the Company of Dragons and Unicorns
An unplugged day alone in my farmhouse, and I can feel – separate.
Separate from noise, separate from the bustle, separate from others. Separate can fall on two sides of a sword – calming peace and tranquility for some or isolation and an inherent belief that you are alone, for others. My second baby, born a very quick distance of 17 months from my other baby, insisted that breastfeeding was a marathon event. I would be shackled to a maternity glider rocker for such long periods throughout the day that I was sure I would go insane. I was alone.
But not really. At any opportunity through a phone call or a visit, where I was in the company of another adult human woman (my chickens were not that empathic, considering their long history of bearing ovular offspring – they thought me a tad whiny – even after I explained to them the full spectrum of post-partum), we would share comparable stories of childbirth and aloneness and eat cheese curd and soda crackers and Mars bars. I was much like others. This gave me strength.
The Inspire profiles validate that every unique circumstance carries veins of similarity. Lola is a Red Dragon. Michelle rides a Dragon. Tanna lost her namesake to a hurricane called Hazel. Shari lost her dearest lover to the hurricane called Alzeimers. Jenn has a magical daughter Wrenna who is possibly part unicorn. Jennifer has magic ice cream that transports you back in time.
We are never alone. Unique. Yes. But never alone.