The Sum of All Parts

I broke a wine glass at work today.

As the shards of tempered glass pierced the skin at my feet, the pain bit into me. I laughed as the 3 others in the room ordered me to stand still while they fetched tissues and kitchen towels in a frenzy to clear up the mess around me. I laughed at the hilarity of the situation, though I wouldn't rule out the fact that I was laughing to hide my embarassment.

I placed a ball of tissue over my foot to stem the trickle of blood that flowed stubbornly from the cut. I looked down at the pieces of glass shattered on the floor. For a fall from such a height, it did manage to scatter to a surprisingly wide surface area. Then a wave of emotions washed over me. The wine glass served its purpose well, until I came along, broke it into several pieces, and rendering it useless. Instead of a beautiful ornament used to contain equally beautiful substances, it is now being swept to be thrown away because it is now worthless, dangerous.

When a person suddenly takes on many roles, does her value decrease as she's being broken down from a whole? Like differentiating a complex formula in a mathematical problem, will she suddenly find herself a single digit, simple and meaningless? How does she describe this sense of uselessness? How can she put into words such intricate threads of her being, such as her fears and her inner voice and her true self? And most importantly, will she be heard? Will her deepest frustrations, when translated into a quiet acceptance of her circumstances, fester into viscous, lava-like anger encaged in a dormant body?

When you can't change the situation , you've gotta change yourself.