Picking Up the Pieces

Those that know me well know my obsession with tea runs deep. I generally have a mug in my hand as I wander around the house and frequently travel to and from place to place with a travel mug in tow.

Tea for me is a ritual. The process of preparing it, sipping it, and the comfort and warmth that follows as it pervades my body; a familiarity that invokes a sense of safety. Home.

Several months ago, one of my favorite tea mugs broke. My ‘every day, all day’ mug. My first thought when this happened was ‘oh joy, another lesson of impermanence’ (sigh) – a reminder to not become too attached to objects and things.

But this mug had been my sidekick for years. My children had seen me carry that mug around every day. Leaving it on their bookshelves as I’d wake them in the morning, sending everyone on a (often amusing) hunt to figure out where I had last left it if I couldn’t find it in the morning. We all knew the top 6 places it would generally have been set down. It was used so often it had taken up permanent residency on the counter by the stovetop. Never to see the inside of a cabinet. This fact also responsible for how it’s fate was sealed.

One evening, I opened the cabinet above its resting place, only to have a large salt grinder fall out, which hit the mug and sent it flying off the counter and onto the floor.

There it now rested.

Broken into pieces.

I stood there looking at it for a good two minutes. I didn’t want to turn my back around as tears were welling up in my eyes. I immediately thought – “let it go”.

A mourning of sorts began. For a mug? Who mourns for a mug? This wasn’t just any old mug. This mug had witnessed days and days of my life, hundreds of minutes of meditation, journaling, countless breakfasts, sometimes bedtimes, illness, births, my tears, my joys. I mean truly an emotional support mug (if we can call it that), for the better part of the last several years. I stood there frozen for a few minutes trying to keep myself together.

The impact of this known by my children too, as they all witnessed this event and could feel the significance of it. They all came up to me separately to share their sympathy.

“Oh Mommy. I’m so sorry. This is sad. I feel bad for you”. My daughter so closely tied to my emotions even shedding a tear herself before she even noticed I too was silently crying as I picked up the pieces.

“Sorry mom. That is sad,” one son empathized. “Awww, I feel bad for you”, another son chimed in.

They knew how much this mug meant to me.

This coming at a time when I had started the process of packing up my things with my impending move in the coming month. Cleaning out a cabinet here, a drawer there. Quietly stacking boxes in another room as the final days of my marriage dissolved. A soul-sucking process that will leave even the strongest of humans feeling broken, shattered, at times irreparable.

I stared at the mug.

I said to myself “I will repair this.”

I immediately thought about kintsugi.

Kintsugi, or Kintsukuroi, is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery. The term translates to “golden joinery,” as the broken pieces are traditionally re-joined using a special lacquer and dusted with powered gold, silver or platinum. Whether it be a vase, a plate, a bowl, a cup - the repaired piece goes through this process with careful attention and strong materials. Each crack now flecked with gold to create something often revered as more beautiful than the original.

Metaphorically, this ‘art’ can be representative of our own wounding, our own brokenness. Serving as a reminder that once broken, we question whether we will ever be the same. But with care, with thought, with intention, we can use what we’ve learned and the wisdom we’ve gleaned from all the lessons to create something new. We can fuse the broken pieces with gold to strengthen it’s structure. Admire it from different angles to see how the light now reflects off it’s scars. A symbol of beauty and strength. The perfection in imperfection. The knowing that we can fall apart and still have value.

It may not be able to hold tea again in it’s new form. But this one deserves to be repaired. To be honored for all the times it held me up, stood by my side through life’s ups and downs, and brought me comfort and warmth.

All is not lost.

We pick up the pieces.

We heal the cracks.

We create something even more beautiful than what was before.