Your life is a great work of art.
It is one of a kind, twisting and turning, some of it intentional, some of it spontaneous, some of it luck. You’ve spent years on it.
So, when it shatters into hundreds/thousands/millions of pieces, it is devastating, to say the least.
Our body helps us with the first part. We feel sorrow, our stomach aches, our throat closes, we cry, we moan, we fall to the ground.
Go with that.
Then, with a tear-stained, snotty face, shaking hands, and a wounded heart, you will begin to see differently. (This is the faith part.)
Now that your great sculpture has shattered, you can see what it’s made of. You can see the inside, which has been trapped. You can feel the sculpture without worrying about breaking it. Remember when you worried about breaking it?
You may be so bold as to grind down a few pieces and snort them right up your nose. Grind a few more, and you’ve got a full supply of body glitter. Walk into town, fabulous, high as a kite, and shimmering all over from what used to be.
You can carry the pain and still twirl.
Perhaps the artist who made that sculpture needs a break, would appreciate a divergent path. Perhaps that artist breathes differently now, wants to hold her hands differently.
Loss is liberating if you let it be.
You still have the talent. You still have experience.
And now you have the thing you’ve likely been upset about not having but were also so unwilling to create for yourself.
Now you have space on your shelf.