It’s Mary Oliver‘s box of darkness and I’ve kicked it under the bed. It was thrown at me, with open flaps, spilling everywhere. The giver disappeared, which was their preference.

I hid it with the other boxes I’d acquired. Out of sight, but sometimes still on my mind, jabbing me like a forgotten pin in clothes. Life went on.

My world changed, but most of the people stayed the same. The things that got better were worse first. Years ago my host brother in Russia told me that struggle is to people what boiling water to eggs: makes the soft insides firmer. Yup. I was trusted with more responsibility at work and took on an honest-to-goodness leadership role in my congregation. The puzzles that consumed my life in my life shifted. Whats and whys made more sense. Life’s questions, its most consuming puzzles, were now the “how”.

My heart changed. The music I listen to no longer spoke to me. Flipping through playlists, I kept settling on music in Russian, sometimes with words that I forgot. I am still learning Ukrainian. The lake never froze. My kids grew taller, as has been their habit. The garden from the year before regrew in the spring. I cleared most of it for something new.

The other day I was walking down Court Street with a good friend of many years. He was in Seattle at the same time that I was: 2010. We lamented the escalating unaffordability of the West Coast. We rued the ways that an abundance of money – and its inequitable distribution – changes culture for the worse. It takes creativity and replaces it with consumerism. Even then, the price point pushes fun out of reach. It’s too bad, unless you’re rich. I was telling him how I felt like I’ve made a pretty good life for myself in Buffalo. I think it’s a life I couldn’t have had if I stayed there. He told me Buffalo was better for having me. He could be right. He could be wrong. He’s definitely kind. His compassion and encouragement have made for years of a lovely friendship. Boxes full of brightness. I keep those too. I try to give them as well.

Same day, different person. He insisted it wasn’t necessary, but giving him thank you cookies were my comforting return to an old habit. He was doing me a favor. I was grateful. I’m no longer someone who is afraid to ask for help. I’m also better at figuring out who to ask. We had a fun, easy conversation as I sat in the passenger seat of his car. I looked out the lake that’s not frozen right now but that’s because it’s not supposed to be. The sun was shining. It was so bright. Everything felt bright. At the destination, we exchanged pleasantries as I departed his car. I exchanged more pleasantries with the woman behind the service center desk returning my car keys. I learn my car is a year older than I thought it was. The dealership has recorded all the body damage on it for posterity. Rude. I returned home to my loves, who aggressively embraced me. Life is repeated iterations of mundanity. It feels right.

There have been times where the interdependent web felt like an entanglement. These days it feels more like an electrical circuit that was installed perfectly. The energy flows, we’re creating wonderful things, and I have a purposeful place in it all. I experience these connections with gratitude and peace.

In my life, boxes of darkness usually contain some form of rejection. They were gifts I never wanted but still had to keep. Rejection comes with some sort of lesson. Sometimes it is the realization that we are better off without each other. Sometimes it’s a mistake not to make twice. Sometimes it’s someone else’s unreasonableness. Sometimes it is my own.

Mary Oliver said that it took years for her to realize the box of darkness was a gift. About a year after my most recent acquisition, the specific nature of the gift still eludes me. (My most patient friend told me, “The gift will reveal itself later.” You’re probably right. But I am living with it now.) Life is better than it was, but it would have been anyway.

What does darkness do? It shades what was light and it obscures. It creates contrast, making the bright even more notable. When I’m looking around right now, that’s what I see. Light. Brightness. Joy. Connection. A whole lot of love. These are the spoils of being present, of not dwelling on an imperfect past, of accepting life’s struggles, and pursuing the future. In this moment I will accept that box of darkness is a tool of perspective. Light wouldn’t feel so special if that was all we had.