Whilst clearing out my handbag, amidst the tobacco dust and tissues were two of my favourite necklaces, tangled beyond recognition as two separate items. I pulled at the chains gently, but was unsure where to start.
‘This is my life’, I thought, depressively. Yes, tangled and snarled with no way to know which way to go without making the tangle worse. I may have sighed resignedly and put the necklace down, but a spark of determination lit a fire I had forgotten, and my deft fingers found a single chain longer than the others.
Following the links, untwisting and unwinding, I though about my own tangle; the things I want, the things I don’t want and the things I am forced to deal with. My illness, changing my mind into an ocean unnavigable. My ambitions, on hold while I pull at these tangles. So many chains, so many ropes, but each rope is a part of me.
I can be a tangle and still work just fine; I’m a mother, a writer, a singer, a musician, a friend, a lover, a sister, a daughter, a call centre worker, a gaming geek; each of these threads tangles into a ball that should not be daunting but delightful.
The twin tangles of chain are slowly parting, and I think of how I don’t want to feel tangled though; I don’t want to feel lost and tied up without the strong to follow through the labyrinth. The necklaces suddenly part, and I feel a sudden sense of freedom; any of the chains I follow will release me, as they are each a part of me.
Necklaces fixed, mind clearer, day brighter; the tangles are still here, but I think I can work them out.