Mending Broken Things
Remembering what once was familiar while weathering change.
For everything there is a season. I first heard this phrase while watching the 1997 film, Ellen Foster. The Ecclesiastes verse has held true throughout my life and never fails to come to mind when something new approaches.
Change has been abundant this last month. Winter has sunk it’s claws in and the cold lay across my yard in a blanket of snow. My kids returned to school from a long break, and the house is once more quiet. Sometimes I sit in that quiet and do nothing but breathe. A new job looms over the horizon, which will bring an adjusted routine for my household. Another change. Another time to prepare.
In spite of another change pending, I find myself reaching for old things—favorite books (the oldest, being my copy of Peter Pan, with it’s blue fabric cover and frayed edges), old sweaters that still manage to be soft, and familiar movies from my collection that beg to be watched (even now I eye Grimm and Haven again).
I’m reminded that change shifts so much in life, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be weathered. Through it, comfort can still be found. It’s in familiar things, old things, worn things, all things that can breathe again, if given the chance. Comfort is mending something you love, making it work again, even if it’s repurposed for something new.
Yesterday I located an old mini laptop. It’s over a decade old, and still powers on—it just needs a new screen. I think I’ll fix it. I can’t seem to help it. I find myself drawn to things around the house, years old DS systems, physical media, and tangible items. They’re filled with memories and always worth coming back to.
And this feeling, the one that cries to seek out what’s familiar, to find solace in things already known. It’s like a warm bowl of soup with fluffy bread…a combatant to the overstimulating change around the corner. Old things bring such nostalgia inside a world of digital things that we recently learned aren’t always tangible or unanimous with ownership—I’m looking at you, my old favorite paperwhite slowly growing dust.
Life shifts, and with it we as humans adjust. We find ways to survive, and to look for pockets of joy. I guess that’s where I’m at right now. Searching for pockets of joy while mending old things. Taking what once was my entire life and shifting it to a hobby while being responsible in growing an income in a new way. Mending, refocusing, and mostly just remembering: it may be broken, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be fixed.
Hoping you find your way and small pockets of joys,
Melinda <3
P. S. I started this article a month or so ago, and finished it tonight. As of today, I’ve worked my new job a handful of weeks. I still find myself sorting out this new routine with my family, and I’m still hoping once the mental load of something new becomes familiar, I’ll be able to dust off my writing journal and put more words to paper like I used to.
I know one thing, though. Those pockets of joy can still be found, even if they look a little different than they used to.