I was waiting at a red light on Saturday night. It was after 10:30pm. Sweat was pouring down my face and I could feel how flush I was. Something on the side of the road caught my eye. Glass. Broken glass, presumably from an accident.
I pictured how eventually that glass would disappear. Rain might wash it away. A street sweeper might clean it up. The next time I would drive on this street it would be gone.
But while I hovered in the pause and in the glow of the red light I was captivated by the broken glass. How delicate it was. How beautiful and odd the misshapen prisms were.
And then the light changed and I drove away.
I have become a person that goes to the gym on a Saturday night. I am breaking old habits down, shattering my twisted image of myself. I am making my health a priority and it’s about damn time.
The further I walk into this new space of better health the more I realize just how depressed I was. It scares me that I didn’t realize it. I was coasting on fumes.
I want to remember the broken glass. That is the only reason why I am writing this down. I want to remember that I saw it after I spent almost an hour and a half working out. I have felt broken before and it has not been empowering. It has felt like The End. For some reason broken glass doesn’t feel so terrible – it feels transformative.