I've spent many decades building houses of sand. Castles in the sky. Forged from reading literature that evoked safe, cozy feelings and a desperate desire to feel safe. I spun my world where tea kettles sing, toes are warmed by the hearth and enveloped with hand knitted socks. I’ve many times used my space to shelter others as well as myself.
There is a fragility to my dream worlds. Sometimes they detach me from reality, dreams without action or substance. Sometimes, they are meant to protect others more than me. I learned as a child to protect, and I never shed that persona. I feel conflicted. There is a beauty and merit to protecting. But I fear that sometimes it leads to more problems than solutions.
To build illusions for one’s and others’ transient happiness is a selfish act. It is selfish because it’s a way to sell oneself as worthy of something. It is selfish because it creates an obligation. It is selfish because it fuels a victim mentality. Most of all, protecting is a transaction. Reductive of the meaning of connection. Reductive of the capability of the protected.
Houses of sand are built when we bury our head in the sand. When we weave our dreams out of nothing. Or worse, when we build them on the back of our denial. They scatter to the winds at the slightest sign of stress. Inevitable stress. Rebuilding houses of sand is constant work that takes one away from healing. Resentments bubble up quickly, its effervescence overwhelming the still the space was supposed to invoke. I think we all have our houses and our distinct way to build them. Moments when we cross that razor thin line between taking a break and trying to escape hard realities.
I wonder if the solution is to simply let the houses of sand dissolve permanently. To let go from the need to perform as a shelter, and focus on building something strong and true. To make peace with the barren land. To sit with discomfort. To understand that doing well is not only being present in joy, but leaning into the discomfort that is an inevitable part of being lucky to be alive.
The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it emotionally.
– Flannery O'Connor