One profound thing about the heart is that it holds onto the remnants of a whole slew of things that have ever touched it. The things that totally engulf it, the ones you swear you’ll never think about again, even things you never paused enough to understand the meaning of.
Consider this… working out leaves the tiniest microtears on your muscles. Just visualising this seems as though it is harmful, but it’s quite the opposite. These little tears are necessary for the muscle to grow and develop itself, patched by the body while you are resting.
Now think of your heart… the most vital and strongest muscle in your body. In a metaphorical way, one can find peace in thinking of these little “scars” left “written” on your heart as necessary. Silently strengthening your heart as it regularly absorbs the impact of this thing called life, occasionally breaks, and always heals.
I often describe a feeling as though I am feeling it “with my chest”. It’s all mental, but the connection I have with the romanticized, unanatomical notion of what the heart is runs deep.
Etched beneath my rib cage are the ways in which my heart has been touched that influence everything about me. My existence, in a manner that is more than just nonstop pumping.
You don’t get to choose how often your heart beats, but you do decide why it is beating. Those little etchings have a lot to do with that.
Although you don’t typically feel the involuntary manner in which your heart operates, it has its ways of reminding you it is, without a doubt, there, taking everything in all of the time. I notice it when it jumps at the sound of a familiar song, when it sinks hearing a certain name, when it flutters at the memory of something beautiful, or the way it aches at the reminder of something awful.
Ever notice that when extremely touched, people are quick to draw their hand to their chest? Whatever instance inspired that will probably be something they think of from time to time for the rest of their life. Positive or negative, it is equally important.
It holds on to grief, joy, anger, confusion, all of the things. The first moment it was held softly with love, and the first it was stomped on with disregard never leaves, nor does anything else. It goes through everything with you, but it never fails at continuing its main purpose: giving life.
Living is so complex, but once you strip it down, staying alive is really all about a fist-sized piece of meat in your chest. Small enough to fit in your hand, but strong enough to endure a lifetime of lasting marks.