So how do I know if I've made progress? What is my standard? How do I mark my becoming, my growth? In the story below, you will find my answer to these questions. In addition, in this little story that I began writing about twenty years ago, you may find the answers to your own questions.
And yes, I have made progress this year. That's all I need for my birthday--to know I've made progress! You can do the same!
To the men reading this: You will have to translate the story into your own terms. Sorry. I wrote it to be used with women's groups, so it is, I'm afraid, gender-biased.
The Egg
Everyone has heard the story . . . of a strong and beautiful bug which came out of the dry leaf of an old table . . from an egg deposited in the living tree many years earlier still. . . Who knows what beautiful and winged life . . . may unexpectedly come forth from amidst society's most trivial and handselled furniture, to enjoy its perfect summer life at last! Thoreau, Walden, 221 Normally, the little girl would not have bothered the egg. She would not have taken it from its cozy nest between the roots of the tall fir tree, for she understood its possible importance to the creature that laid it. However, there was something about this particular egg that fascinated her, something that caused her to pause as she took the short cut home through the woods. Perhaps she was entranced by the egg's translucent blue shell. She felt sure that she could view the mystery inside if only she could find the right light. So she carefully lifted the egg, tucked it into her hanky, making sure that she tied the corners securely, and carried it home.
Once home, she avoided her mother and her brothers by going up the back stairs to her room. She didn't know why she needed to avoid her family, but she felt an urgency to keep the matter of her egg private--just between the egg and her. She bundled the egg into a soft, fuzzy pair of winter socks, put the bundle into the box that had contained the softball she had gotten for Christmas, and stashed the box in a remote corner of her underwear drawer. "Safe!" she sighed with relief. Yes, safe, but she wasn't sure why that was such a relief or why she felt the need to keep the matter to herself. She did not dwell on that thought, however, for she was a little girl, and she needed to get on with the business of her girlhood.
Concerned for the first few weeks that the creature inside the egg might not hatch, that it might rot and make a mess in her dresser drawer, the girl checked the egg every day, and every day the egg seemed the same. At the end of a month, the girl opened the flap of the box and loosened the egg's wrapping so that whatever came out could make a soft nest in her socks and panties, but no creature emerged. Discouraged, the girl decided to keep the egg as a curiosity, and she seldom bothered to check on it after that. One dull, rainy Saturday afternoon, however, about a year after she had found it, the girl idly removed the egg from its hiding place and examined it. She thought that the egg had grown larger and the blue of its shell had become paler, but she wasn't sure. Maybe she was just imagining things--her mother always said that she had a big imagination.
As the months turned to years, the girl became involved in the process of growing into a young lady, and she forgot about the egg in her underwear drawer. Well, sometimes when she grabbed for a pair of underpants or some socks, she touched the box and considered checking on the egg, but she never did get around to removing it from its wooly bundle in the softball box.
The day came when the girl left home for college. As she was packing her things, she remembered the egg. She removed the box from her drawer and gently unwrapped the contents. The egg had grown, its shell seemed thinner, and its color had faded to a delicate blue, the color of the forget-me-nots in her mother's garden. When the girl held the egg in the sunlight coming through her bedroom window, she could almost see inside it. She tenderly rewrapped the egg, tucked it into its box, and replaced it in its hiding place. "Maybe, when I come home from school at the end of the year, I will be able to see into the egg clearly," she mused for a moment, and then she dashed downstairs to the car waiting to take her away.
Years passed; the girl grew into a lovely young woman. She seldom returned to her home, and when she did, it was not for long. She always had so many things to do that she never did remember to check her egg. She married and raised a family. One day, middle-aged and alone in life, she returned to her childhood home to help her mother get the house ready for sale. That night she slept in her old room, in her old bed.
The woman awoke in the middle of the night to the touch of a moonbeam on her face. As she sat up and looked around her room, she remembered that she had not checked on her egg since she had last tucked it away so many years ago. Curious about the egg, doubting that it had survived the years, and yet hoping that it had, she slipped into her sandals and padded over to her old dresser. When she opened her underwear drawer, she saw that there in its corner was the softball box, just where she had put it before she left for college. The box felt very light as she removed it from its corner and opened the flap. She gently pulled the soft bundle from the box and unwrapped the egg in the palm of her hand.
As the egg lay in her hand, its shell shimmered where the moonbeam touched it. The woman watched, amazed at its fragile, porcelain beauty. She carried it to the window where the light was stronger and where she might better see into the egg. As she raised it into the light, the egg glowed. Startled, the woman dropped the egg and closed her eyes so she could not see it smash onto the floor. She did not, however, hear the impact of the egg on the floor. Instead, she felt a soft touch on her shoulder. Wondering, she opened her eyes and found herself looking into the face of a lady with the kindest, gentlest blue eyes she had ever seen.
"Why, who are you?" the woman asked.
"I am the lady from inside your magic egg," replied the stranger, and as she spoke, a breeze coming through the window touched her silvery hair and her long, blue satin gown, making them shimmer. "Don't be afraid of me. I'm your friend. I've been your friend for a long time."
"But what do you mean?” questioned the woman. "I've never seen you before. Where have you been?"
"I've been inside that egg you so tenderly and carefully kept safe inside your drawer for so long," responded the lady. "I've been waiting for the moment when I could make myself known to you."
"Oh, but you are so beautiful," sighed the woman, "and your eyes are so very kind."
"I am no more beautiful and no kinder than you, my dear," replied the lady gently.
"How can you say that? I'm so dumpy and fat that I can't stand myself," wailed the woman, and she turned her back to the lady in shame.
The lady put her arm around the woman's shoulders and softly turned her so she was looking directly into the lady's eyes. She cupped the woman's face between her hands, smiled, and said to her, "I want you to take the hand mirror from your dresser top over to the window where the light is strongest, gaze into it, and tell me what you see."
The woman did what the lady had requested. She shifted the mirror until she could see herself clearly and gazed at her image.
"Now, what do you see?"
"Well, I see myself, my ordinary, frumpy self," replied the woman.
"Look into your eyes. What do you see there?"
The woman stared intently at her eyes in the mirror for a few seconds and exclaimed in amazement, "Why, I see you in my eyes! When I look at my eyes in the mirror, I see you!"
"No," countered the lady, "when you gaze into your eyes, you see yourself, your true self. I am that true self of yours, the self that you kept safely hidden away in the depths of your dresser drawer, the self that inhabited the magic egg you found so long ago. I was inside that egg, waiting for the right time to reveal myself to you. And now that you know I exist and you have seen my beauty and felt my gentleness and love, the rest of your life will be different."
In awe the woman asked, "But why am I so lucky? Don't other women have magic eggs, too?"
"Oh, yes," answered the lady quietly. "Each woman possesses a magic egg. Not every woman's egg fares as well as yours, however. Sometimes an egg is damaged so badly when its owner is just a little child that the lady who emerges--if, indeed, she ever does emerge--is stunted and incapable of fulfilling her promise. Sometimes an egg is so badly neglected that its contents shrivel and die, and the whole egg disintegrates into dust. But many eggs survive the years, and the ladies inside emerge at the times when their owners most need them."
"I see," replied the woman. "But will you always be here with me? Will I always be able to talk to you and to touch you?"
"I must leave you soon, but I will return whenever you need and want me," answered the lady gently.
Alarmed, the woman asked, "But how will I find you?"
In response, the lady took the woman's hands in her own and tenderly led her to the full-length mirror on the bedroom door. As she stood behind the woman, the lady touched the woman's shoulder and said, "You need only stand before a mirror and gaze into your eyes, just as you did earlier. Whenever you do that, I will come to you. Try it again."
The woman did as the lady bade her and there, in the image of her eyes, was the beautiful, gentle lady of the egg. Filled with joy, the woman turned to give the lady a big hug, but the lady was not there. A few fragments of pale blue eggshell glittered in the moonlight where she had stood, but the lady was gone. A brief moment of darkness, a fleeting shadow, passed across the woman's face; she turned back to her mirror and gazed into her eyes. And there, just as she had promised, appeared that wonderful and beautiful lady. Feeling suddenly sleepy and filled with peace, the woman returned to her bed and slept.
When the woman awoke, her room was filled with sunshine. She padded over to the little pile of eggshell on the floor and carefully placed the fragments into the velvet-lined drawer of her jewel box where they would be safe. Again, she stood before her mirror and gazed into her eyes. Again, true to her word, the lady gazed back at her, serenely and lovingly.
As time passed, the lady's presence became permanently etched in the woman's awareness. Her trips to the mirror became less frequent as she grew more and more secure in her knowledge that the grace, kindness, and beauty of the lady were part of her. With each new day, the woman felt her own love and beauty touch the lives of those with whom she came into contact, just as her life had been touched by the lady of the egg.
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