Today the heavy rain and dismal sky outside matches how I feel on the inside. My mom called to tell me her oldest and closest friend died. “Cheerleader,” as I called her, has been part of the fabric of my life since I was a baby.
Today feels worlds away from last Friday when I strolled along a quiet beach completely consumed by the beauty of all the treasures washed ashore. There, between the lapping waves and soft blanket of sand, lay a variety of pastel colored shells, sponges, coral, bleached white sand dollars, and lastly, something I have never seen before in nature, sea stars. Also known as starfish, these little creatures were soft, malleable and alive unlike the hard lifeless ones I have touched in tourist shops.
Holding the little sea star in my hand was exquisite. I stared at it amazed by the intricate design. Then I took a picture and threw it back into the water. A part of one of the arms was missing, but I had heard before that sea stars grow their arms back.
I went home to make sure I wasn’t mistaken, and sure enough, I read online that as long as part of the sea stars’ central disc remains, it can in fact regenerate.
It made me think of all the losses we endure in a lifetime and how losing people close to us can feel like we, too, are missing an essential part of ourselves. But maybe like the sea star, if we can keep our central discs intact, we too will grow anew. We are resilient beyond belief…we break and grow, break and grow, over and over again. And when we live life from our center, we too are capable of majestic and infinite growth.