Today I had a lot of personal anxiety. Nothing much to do with my child but more with me and where I am spiritually and emotionally going. I ruminated on things I have said and done, even some of the silliest moments in my past. Approaching 30, I am beginning to understand the vastness of what thirty years really means. Some of these memories, these habits, or these acts made me cringe. And then I could not leave that state for about an hour. The rest of my worries lined up behind to get a piece of the action. A real freak show of a meltdown. How much sage was I going to end up inhaling (or possibly ingesting) for the next hour?
Growing pains. My friend called it growing pains. And that could not be more accurate. I cringe because I see myself in a place now where I don’t understand some of the things I have said or done or felt in the past.
You know, I thought about physical growing pains a few months back. When did I stop getting mine? Is that pain in my knee now the same feeling? Is it so far behind me that it is a pain I will never remember? Ah, I remember it now. In the same way you can feel the muscles behind your knees stretching, so, too, can you feel your soul or energy, whatever you want to call it, being put on the rack. So much to still be free of. So much to let go. So much to forgive and so much to let in.
On the other side of Scar’s diagnosis, I see a grown woman on the other side of the looking-glass. She is looking back at me critiquing how I now compose myself or how I allow the world to affect me. It’s outer body in nature and it’s quite fascinating. Is this what growing up is? Not everyone does this, right? Or they feel it or express it differently?
Well, when the hour was up, I felt a lot better. Tired, but better. I like staying conscious of myself in this way. I have never vibed so well with me. Then I went to the cemetery and played hide and seek with my kid and forgot about everything for a while. I have never been so mindful of *right now*.
I jotted down quite a few notes for this fanciful and personal blog post and used NONE of them. So I will share them separately with you below so you can see where my brain went. I have seriously leveled up and that is pretty much amazing.
I want to create words over and over for any and all reasons. I want the world to soak in them. I want to create stories that take you away from struggle for a while. I want to tell stories that highlight the fact that struggle is just another word for growth.
I want to dance around fires, write poetry on par with Byron or Poe, lay down beneath stars, and sunbathe by the ocean. I want to whisper-sing to my daughter as she lies down to rest, no matter her age. I want to create and move and be all the time with every single breath.
I want to press pause more frequently. I want to press play when necessary. I rarely want to press rewind. When I find I may have to travel back there to play out a scene, to siphon inspiration from a memory, I will. I want to see the people and feel the things that hurt me. I want to hold the people who I have hurt in my mind’s eye. And I want to feel forgiveness and new beginnings. I want to tape over each of those haunting memories with the joy of waking up every morning grateful of what each experience has taught me.
I want to inspire love in all human beings and let only truth and integrity roll from my tongue. I want to hold the hearts of friends, not just their hands, and keep them safe and close to me. Keep them dreaming and loving and believing that there is good in the world and it starts with each of us. I want to be that light for them in their darkness as they are in mine.
I want to feel the skin of a lover, not their armor. Not their masks or their sheep’s clothing. I want to know what they love, who they love, how they love and dive into those waves. I want to be tossed around in the throes of it and let it take me out to sea. I also want to be sure I know how to swim through them. I need to keep my own head above the water.
I want to stand on the edges of cemetery hills and look around at the epitaphs of people who lived a life not too different from most of us. Who felt pain and triumphed heartache. Who fought evil in wars and who protected their families at home. I want to feel that connection, that idea that we are all not so different, living or dead. And in that connection, forge a respect for every facet of humanity.
I want so much from this short, little life that has been generously handed to me by an exploding cosmic body. This speck that has grown into a life worth living. This star-dust that I share with everyone around me. This star that has shone brighter through trauma, smiled wider through pain. I don’t think it is too much to ask for. And the most beautiful thing is: none of it is impossible.