My relation to an egg...

I'm not sure why it disappointed me so, but it did. Happening upon a perfectly blue robin egg while playing was a delightful moment as a child. Gently picking it up with great care and trepidation, and then realizing that it was empty was the opposite of delightful. (All of you that are now lecturing me on the fact that I should not have touched the egg in the first place, must remember that I was a curious child). Deflated. I felt sorry for the little blue egg. Its purpose had been served, and now it would easily be smashed into pieces, and the pieces would scatter and become unrecognizable in their microscopic broken state. 

Last night as I was going to sleep with my mind whirling, trying to define how I felt, trying to organize my feelings in neat little boxes so I could contain them and control them, the still shot of the robin egg flashed before my eyes. The robin egg was the definition. Fragile. Breakable-the opposite of strong.

By definition I am a helper. It is what I live for. It is who I am. Unfortunately, I disappoint myself. The ultimate disappointment, the thing that shatters me, is when I intend to help and inadvertently harm in the process. I become the little empty blue egg moments before it will be smashed and scattered and forgotten, but keenly aware of its imminent demise.

Fragile, broken, microscopic pieces floating on the wind, and in need of “Someone” to gather my pieces and piece me back together again.