Life is inherently cyclical, always shifting between "smooth sailing", and feeling as though not a single thing is going your way. The low periods are often a sign that you are on the wrong path, and while it sucks to be stuck in a rut, we need these times in order to make necessary adjustments in our lives. Possibly most important though, is the fact that we need these low points in order to not take for granted the times in our lives when everything has fallen in to place.
There was quite a lengthy period of time where the fireplace ghost was non-existent. This also happened to be a particularly rough transitional period in my life. My boyfriend and I had just had an epic breakup, my job was completely unfulfilling, and I was questioning my passion for the sport that I had poured so much of my energy into.
My walk home from work is my time to reflect. There were many days that I would be so disappointed with my life, that by the time I reached the halfway point I would be near tears. By this point in my journey the crowd of walkers would thin, and once across the bridge I would reach the steepest part of the walk. I would begin the climb with attack. A good pace for the first several steps, but as the climb intensified, so would my thoughts. I would feel the sorrow wash over me, and each step would get more difficult. By half-way up the hill it would take every ounce of my being to keep my feet moving. The tears would begin to fall, and then continue all the way home. I remember one particular day vividly, because it was late fall/early winter and the temperature outside was cold enough that I could feel the tears freezing on my face.
When I walked through my front door I had one of those silly moments that we sometimes have when we are upset, where you come up with things that are fairly irrational. I said out loud, "no one cares about me... even the fireplace ghost doesn't care about me anymore!" I immediately went to use the washroom, leaving the bathroom door open as I often do when home alone. This provides me with a fairly unobstructed view into the living room. I'm sitting there, still dwelling on my sense of isolation from both people and spirits, when I hear a funny noise. "No way", I said to myself as I peaked my head outside of the bathroom. The fireplace had turned on.
