we're clever us humans. especially if you're an over educated female in the 21st century. especially if you're staring down the barrel of the wound that despite the regularly applied soul salve still says: you're not good enough.
oh how we dance around the pain, creating sweet strategies to navigate the world like we have it all figured out. we get good at what we're good at and hold onto it like a life raft, like an oxygen mask.
all the while terrified to let go and surrender. into the fear of not having it figured out, or knowing what's next, or having a plan. paralyzed that we'll drown. we'll be left for dead. we'll be unlovable. or that our resurrection will just take too fucking long and nobody will wait and hold our hand.
then sadly recognizing that we are simply too terrified or prideful to ask for the hand, the heart, the help necessary to face and navigate the unknown.
and in our feral fears we dim down. we follow the well worn paths. we lather up our resistance to keep the dark at bay, which inevitably always starts to steal our light.
maybe it's because my father is a schizophrenic, a confusing title, an incomprehensible lived experience. is it this that dampens my fire?
his chaos a silent cap on my own wild creativity and non conformity? his suffering is surely an ever aching hole in my own heart.
maybe it's because my mother is a prolific artist and my art has never, and will never, look like that. nor should it i guess, but i compare none the less.
her mastery of shape and color is the equivalent to my understanding the ebb and flow of the body, the brilliant mess of being alive, and the art of living a fully expressed life. but there are no pretty canvases that lay testament to that knowing, that passion, that commitment.
maybe it's simply because the karmic threads of this go around are holding me to the carpet ride of unraveling this knot, this kink in the human condition. maybe i am here to simply answer the question of enoughness.
i show up everyday. failing forward a thousand times and then some. taking every wrong turn. tricking myself, looking away, trying on someone else's versions of what's "right". always coming back to look in the mirror of the moment, always in hopes of seeing a little bit more of the light.
and lately this woman in the mirror is staring me down. calling me out. offering a new invitation: what does it mean to be radically alive sister?
what does it mean to be fully self expressed? what will it take for you to dismantle the invisible walls and reveal the raw truth of who you are?
oh yes, stop acting as if and start going for the real. this is it. it's a stand off. it's game day and we are playing to win. busting through the old paradigm of uninspired probabilities and launching straight into the center of the unknown possibilities. where the magic lives.
i've begun by looking her in the eyes. sometimes i question, sometimes i cry. most often i simply say, "i love you". in a hundred different ways i say it, i say it for all the reasons i truly do.
i love on that woman in the mirror, and every time i do, i see myself becoming, arriving, returning home, where nothing matters but the raw artistic truth of my brilliant messy aliveness.