When I was 7, my grandparents went to St. Petersburg. When they came home, my grandma gave me a set of Russian dolls she'd come across in an old street market. I was fascinated by them, the way that each one was alike, yet different. They fitted together perfectly, and if you took one away, everything changed; it didn't work any more.
All the way through the rest of my life, I've kept those dolls safe, and any time I've needed reassurance, or reminding of something, I've gone to find them, taken them apart and then put them back together again. They've become a symbol, a kind of metaphor for the way that life often unsettles us and we need to find comfort in anything we associate with safety. So often, we find ourselves in situations that unnerve us, make us worry that we won't know how respond to them. We get taken in directions that we're not sure we want to travel. Along the way, we take a turn and the people we wanted to take on the journey have gone the opposite way.
One thing I've always loved them for is the way that each doll gets smaller, but it remains the same. Its character remains unchanged. Life can often make us feel insignificant, as though we've lost some of who we are, and the hopes we hold. Really, all that's happened is we've temporarily been overtaken by circumstances that we wished were better and have challenged us, but we take from it the fact that we have kept our character. Our spirit has endured all of those challenges and it's still there, with a smile at a memory of the happiest of days, it's still reminding us of its presence.
When we're facing adversity, we can so easily begin to feel that people who've known us for a huge part of our lives are changing, and we're standing still. If you open the dolls to reveal the smaller one beneath, then the next and so on, each doll is essentially the same. When you get to the end, you see that the essence of what you began with has remain unchanged. The lesson it's always taught me, at least the way I've interpreted it, is that our lives become tangled, and fraught, and challenging. An odd look or a strange remark from someone we have always felt we can be sure of, we often interpret as being a sign of a shift in our relationship. We assume that something has changed, and yet to the other person it would most likely have passed by entirely unnoticed. Then a small amount of time passes, and they say or do something that reminds you of a memory, or of the very thing that made you so fond of them in the first place. And you remind yourself that all those anxieties you had were all in your head. Because nothing "real", nothing that means something, the people who are special to you, don't ever change. And if there's something you hoped would, there's nothing at all to stop you from doing it.
I love to revisit these dolls, because however long the periods between visits, my memory of them is exactly the same. I never forget the way their hair curls at the neck, the shade of their lips and the way the wood gently scratches your finger as you squeeze them apart. Each day of our lives, how often are we reminded of something significant by something seemingly banal? All those times are really evidence of how often we cling to memories. I'm quite sure that the reason we retreat to the sanctuary of our memories is that we're searching for a comfort that only the past can provide. It provides it because it's completed, it can't be undone, and there's a safety in it. The future contains uncertainty, necessitates a kind of bravery in all of us to take a step forward. It's daunting, there's no doubt of that. Even the most headstrong and determined person takes a second to consider their next move. The things we're fearful of are usually really those that we want the most. But we're only frightened because we're worried of how we'll cope if reality doesn't live up the anticipation, frightened that the next time won't be as good as the last.
I've had those dolls for 18 years, and they've been an unexpected treasure. They've remained the same while life, as it does for all of us, has changed. The minor details in our stories alter, get edited, but the plot survives all its modifications. Those dolls look and feel every bit the same as they were on that day I opened them all as an excited 7-year-old. Don't be afraid of taking the unfamiliar road. You take everything with you that has ever existed, and it can't be changed. There may be a comfort in the past, but there's excitement in the future. And you'll never find it unless you try.
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