My Life as a Pincushion
Really Feeling This Pincushion
Sometimes I feel like a human pincushion in a world of needles, violated from every direction–and as if that is, moreover, my sole purpose in life. Now, I know that choosing to look at things differently would result in a less painful sense of existence, as in: “X really sucks, but Y and Z are great, and who wouldn’t want Y and Z?” I know it’s not just me–so many friends and fellow bloggers are dealing with the barbs of life, too, valiantly charting their steps to happiness, serenity, solvency and simplicity, all in order to feel less pained by life and more in charge of it. Yet we all sometimes slip and draw blood, too.
Ideally, I’d prefer to be more like the wind than a pincushion, where the slings and needles of outrageous fortune would pass through, and never pierce, never puncture, never attach. It’s the attachments that are, literally and figuratively, the sticking points. The Pins and Needles are happy in their pinnyness and needlyness and it would never occur to them you are anything but happy to serve as their very own pincushion, perfectly suited for the sharpness of their jabs: after all, you’re still here, right?
But back to looking at it in a different way. Zen wisdom tells us that it is impossible to know what is good or not good for us, because even things that are not good can open the doors to something much better. How, then, can the pins be good?
Acupuncture! Each fine point that makes its way into my being serves a purpose, to help me correct misguided action, to help me heal myself, right? Some are inserted deeply, some shallowly, some are set to vibrate, all located to get the old qi going in the right direction. It’s not supposed to hurt, though.
Tats! Maybe all the needles are leaving, figuratively speaking, designs upon my psyche instead of scabs and scars? I’m not sure I’d want to see the results. One of the nice things about the human brain is the possibility of forgetting, or of the memory of pain diminishing with time (like women who can face having more kids). Nah. My psyche is a Permanent Record, and I would prefer not to see a lot of painful marks upon it.
Injections! Could the Needles of Life be inoculations, moments of pain that reward me with immunity against further sufferings, cures for neuroses, anaesthesia for heartaches? Or maybe they threaten to become a “fix,” and one that’s more frightening than fun? I suspect they’re more likely to deliver truth serum.
Sewing! Hmmm. That’s more like it. They are just pins and needles, after all. Pins that hold together the different pieces of life, and the different points of view. Needles are there to sew everything together with some threads of meaning, to mend the holes, to alter what doesn’t fit anymore, to redesign what one no longer likes.
As a writer, I’m a pincushion. I compulsively examine each pin, to consider just how I feel about it. The particular pattern and number of pins that have been stuck in me have inked my point of view, rechannelled the flow of my thinking, and have optimized the conditions for a healthy imagination (or warped, as it may). Of course, as a writer I spend far too much time at my desk, and will no doubt come to look like a plump, overstuffed blob covered in fabric!
11 Responses to “My Life as a Pincushion”
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Minimalist Photographer
Point well taken!!!!!! For all the little pricks, stabs, and wounds we find ourselves experiencing in this world – your post, as always, provides readers with perspective and wondrous food for thought. Of course, that’s to be expected from someone so clear and sharp (in the best sense) as you.
Daphne DeLaurier recently posted..Onion Pie
Hi Daphne–oh you teaser, you! My “sharpness” is more commonly considered “irritability” ;D Glad you enjoyed it!
Meg, In this post you have again brilliantly pointed out many of life’s paradoxes. Throughout it, I read your pain; I feel your pain. I don’t mean that tritely as in ‘Yeah, man, I feel your pain’ but truly I feel the pain you express in your words and phrases. Additionally, as I’m reading, I am holding a needle, weaving in ends of yarn to finish a scarf. Weaving in and out on the back of the stitches, knit purl knit purl cable. Somewhere in there is another lesson. Willow
Hi Willow–I was hoping to make light of the pain, but your astute reading picked up on it, anyway. It has been a challenging few weeks, but life rolls on. You’re finishing knitted projects, and I have literally just unraveled several sweaters and lap blankets to repurpose the yarn. Lessons in there, indeed!
Beautiful metaphor. And so universal.
misssrobin recently posted..A Month of Kindness
Hi Missrobin–thanks so much, and very glad you enjoyed it
Have missed your writing, Meg. Was so glad to see you in my inbox again.
There’s nothing I love better than an extended metaphor. The part that resonates most for me is inoculations. There’s a toxic person in my life who must remain in my life (as he’s attached to my children). Every time he spews a little poison, I say a little thank you–for confirmation that the boundaries I’ve drawn are good ones, and for the reminder to keep them firmly in place. Takes most of the sting out of that prick. (I know, cheap shot. Couldn’t resist
Rita@thissortaoldlife.com recently posted..The pause that refreshes
Hi Rita–I cracked up at that last line!!!!!!!!!!! Thanks so much for waiting for me, it is deeply appreciated. I actually didn’t realize how long it had been since I’d last posted, and was shocked, and then got tripped up while writing this, and finally things settled down enough for me to get it done. I’ve been writing a lot, though, and should have an announcement post up soon, hint hint ;D
That’s a very healthy way of reframing it. I heard a Zen teacher once say, “A bad situation is a good opportunity.” A trivial example but recently, my tongue was on fire from eating a pepper, and rather than freak out, I just decided to observe what’s going on and see how bad it’ll get. And it actually didn’t hurt as bad then.
Joan recently posted..Healthy Trim More Information
Hi Joan–that’s one way of detaching from the situation even as it hammers you. I love hot peppers, but once bit into one that was hotter than any I’d had before, and had no choice but to let it have its way until it subsided. Not sure if I’d want another bite, though!
How clever! Fortunately, we’re not really this material body. Or pin cushion either! Ahhh, if only we were that far beyond, beyond, beyond the needles and pins.
Sandra / Always Well Within recently posted..A Simple 6-Step Prescription for Greater Happiness