See, I’ve been thinking about my life lately, and how in love with it I am.
If I can just hold on tonight, I know that nothing, nothing survives.
But it does. It thrives – pain thrives, consequences thrive, fights thrive. These things change our life, they disrupt our courses.
We are all scared of choosing the wrong course, but there is no right one. There is just the process of rearranging. Just like editing, it is about using the right words. On tumblr, I saw this post:
And something clicked.
That is what I live for. For words made flesh, made scars, made so scary that you’re frightened to look forward. That is my life in a cherry pit. Will I survive taking the steps? Will these steps lead me anywhere?
I think that is a pantomime of the ultimate – I don’t want to say journey – question: where are we going, why are we going and will we be happy on the way?
And I think I will be scared shitless on the way. I still haven’t found a way to blend my two loves: writing/editing and teaching children, but maybe I’m trying too hard to turn real life into a metaphor.
Maybe it comes more naturally, like relationships, like sighs. Maybe it comes through words exchanged after you buy a coffee, a professor that gives you a good grade, an opportunity where before was barren space.
There is a sunset that calms all your fears and a morning that irritates them all. A lay-off from a job that you loved doing and an altruistic act that gets you closer to your personal hell. Things aren’t supposed to make sense, but they are beautiful in their nonsensicality.
Truth is often unkind, but it is much kinder told than it is hidden. Honesty is saying that you’re shitting bricks trying to turn into the person you see in front of you when you close your eyes. Being genuine is trying, and being scared that you’re trying.
You will never escape who you are at the end of the night, because morning will come and your happiness will either be there, or not.
I wake up at 6 in the morning now, an hour I previously thought only existed once you gained a platinum-belt-of-adulthood, and I am exhausted. Once I set foot on those outdoor steps, that gallery of space, of childishness; once I set up my platform and sit down with my tea at 7, watch the sunset where a Canadian painter once became who he was, and where I am slowly becoming who I am, I am so content that I cannot help but burst. My face hurts from smiling lately. That is a feeling that I would never exchange for money.
I spent the past year gaining confidence, now, I am learning presence. Direction discloses itself to me after I wake up.
That I still have so much I want to learn, to know, and to explore only reinforces this bubble of happiness that I’ve found. I do not want to leave and I want to leave. I am kind and I am honest. I am full and I am filling. I am here and everywhere.
I feel like a goddess.
And being scared of the will-or-will-not future is just part of my beautiful package.
For now, this is enough. For now, I am reaching.
It’s just a simple line, I can still hear it all of the time.