TangledWings

Scared & Fearless

For his birthday T and I bought the B-Dog his first bike...with training wheels of course.  Once we lowered the seat a bit more for his little legs he was off faster than either T or I could keep up with.  It's a good source of exercise: put the kid on a bike and jog to keep up with him.  All was well until last weekend when the B-Dog took his first spill.  He was flying down the street only to round a corner a little too quickly and wind up on his face.  He limped around for a few days, a big bruise on his knee.  He recovered from the limping in a few days time...except for when the suggestion of a bike ride came up, then the limping recommenced.  He complained that he couldn't ride his bike because his knee just hurt too bad.

Tonight was his first time back on the bike.  I needed to pick up a few things from the grocery store and in order to get a little exercise and help out the environment I thought it would be a good idea to walk.  And it would have been a great idea if it hadn't taken us almost and hour to make it 5 blocks.  Although the fear of falling again didn't immobilize him it did certainly slow him down to a snails pace.  I could have crawled on my hands and knees the entire way and still have been faster than he was on his bike.  And anytime we approached an uneven place in the sidewalk or a gravely area he came to a complete stop.  Sometimes that's what falling can do to us.  We quickly go from zooming around corners to barely moving.

It didn't help that he kept repeating the same mantra over and over again: I'm so very, very scared.  We finally had to stop and talk about the message he was giving himself.  I explained that sometimes when we say something about ourselves again and again that's the way we start to feel.  By saying over and over that he was scared he was making himself feel scared.  Instead we were going to change the message.  He was going to say, I am very, very brave...because he was.  Getting back on the bike after being hurt is brave.  And while our speed didn't increase much at least the message he was giving himself changed.

About a block from the store the B-Dog said, "Mom, what does the word fearless mean?"  I told him it was similar to being brave.  It meant without fear.  He liked that word better and so his new mantra became I am very, very fearless.  We finally made it to the store, purchased the eggs and Teddy Grahams we needed, and begin our slow trek home, the whispers of I am very, very fearless heard just above the crunch of gravel and the squeak of training wheels.  About halfway home B said, "Mom, guess what I am now, very, very scared or very, very fearless?"  Wanting to encourage the positive self-talk I answered, "I think you're very, very fearless."  "Nope," he replied, "I'm both very, very scared and very, very fearless."  And isn't that just about the truth of life--the fear and the fearlessness co-existing. 

I think sometimes I give fear a bad rap.  I think I'm supposed to always live bravely, that I'm supposed to eradicate fear from my life.  But fear has its positive aspects.  It alerts us to when something is wrong.  Its the fear that keeps us careful and cautious so that we can live wisely while living bravely.  It can be fear that pushes us to rely on others when we need them the most...like when we're getting our courage up to ride our bike again and we want someone by our side...just in case.  Its fear that teaches us to look both ways before crossing the street and to watch for cars pulling out from the driveway.  In other words, what I'm trying to say is fear isn't always our enemy.  Fear is that something inside us that just wants to keep us safe, keep us from getting hurt. 

We've been home for over an hour.  The B-Dog is fast asleep...at least I hope so and I've watched Samantha Who?  I'm still thinking about our trip to the store and how it is good to be both very, very scared and very, very fearless.  Maybe instead of shaming myself for the fear I sometimes feel I need to look at my own fear from a different perspective, to see it not as something to push from my life but as something to honor, something to view as I would an overprotective friend, at times too limiting and constraining but at other times very right in its observations, something to couple with my own fearlessness.    

New Ink

whatcha wanna do that fo'
she asks, as if she doesn't know
because this is my body
I answer
and I want everyone to know
it belongs to me
because for too long it didn't and
I'm takin' it back
because for too long I didn't know
I had the right to take it back
because for too long I didn't know how
to say no but now I know better
even though sometimes I still forget
I can say yes, I can say no
I can say don't you dare
but my body can't speak on it's own
I must open my mouth in my defense
because I gave too much away
for all the wrong reasons
but now I know what belongs to me
and I want to write my story
into my skin
so I'll never forget again

I feel like...

I feel like...
a woman who's getting too old, too fast
a woman who hasn't moved in days
a woman whose body aches from this lack of movement
a woman who can't seem to get enough sleep
a woman whose arms have become flabby and whose bell has become soft
a woman with a car seat in the backseat of her car
a woman who feels incredibly empty and keeps trying to fill the emptiness with food
a woman who doesn't have a clue who she is, what she wants, or what might possibly make her feel satisfied
a woman who is so many things she can't make sense out of any of them
a woman who's afraid--
afraid of loosing herself and her voice
afraid of never belonging
afraid of never feeling content
afraid of never finding peace, especially peace with herself
afraid of running out of time
afraid of not connecting to her core
afraid the day will come when she'll never be touched again
afraid some day she'll stop feeling beautiful
afraid of loosing her words, her poems
afraid of always being hungry
afraid of never really connecting to something deep
afraid of never being who she wants to be--who she knows she can be
afraid of not recognizing her own voice
afraid of dying with too much trapped inside
a woman who just ate two vanilla scones and a huge serving of lasagna and doesn't give a damn
a woman who knows something is not quite right but can't figure out what
a woman who keeps taking everything out on everyone else
a woman holding a lot of rage
a woman who can't be still
a woman who wants change but is forcing it and as a result is being destroyed by it
a woman who's lost something but she's not sure what
a woman staring out the window into the dark

This is me today...

Today the weather was so warm I didn't need a jacket and being able to walk into the warm sunshine made me feel alive...Today I'm not certain what I want to write about and decided I needed to simply write about where I am right now, today, because the uncertainty about what to write stems from the unusual week I've had (unusual meaning totally out of our 'normal' routine) and the feelings of disconnection this unusual week brought with it ...Today I want to curl up with my journal and make a list of things I want to do that I don't let myself do because of fear, intimidation, or the simple fact I don't make time for it...Today that type of list seems essential because it will bring me back to myself and that's exactly what I need...Today I wish I could hide away for several hours to make that type of list and do some additional writing because when my words start to pile up inside me I feel off balance...Today I renewed a friendship with someone I haven't seen for almost 5 years...Today I learned that when you've gone into yourself and out again with someone else, seeing that person again is like picking up right where you left off, that deep connection is still there because you have shared far too much of yourself with that person (and vice versa) for it to dissolve...Today I realized how far I've come and where I am headed and that feels both right and good...Today I'm feeling sad about my co-worker leaving his position and moving to another city not just because his position will be vacant but because he really has given a lot to me in the short amount of time I've known him...Today I have decided to make a small career change and although I know it's the best thing for me in the long run I feel grief over the things I will miss about my current position...Today I am opening the door to new possibilities...Today I am being brave and believing in my abilities...Today I sense body image issues beginning to resurface which feels like I'm battling my body again because those issues always bring with them a feeling of desperation and panic...Today I ache to be at peace with myself...Today I hunger for authenticity and the courage to more often make myself vulnerable without immediately feeling the need to draw back into myself, protect myself, and fold my heart back up...Today I wish there were times you could hold on to something and never let it go...Today I'm in denial about some things I'm feeling because I'm not ready to feel them fully and that's okay for the moment but I've got to get real soon because although not getting real is an option it's not the healthiest and wisest and most authentic option...Today my son has strep throat and 5ths disease (sounds dramatic but really it's not) and that has knocked this week out of balance...Today I am resisting my e-mail because I just don't want to deal with it...Today I want to feel beautiful but those resurfacing body image issues are getting the best of me...Today I know those issues are eating at me but I choose tenderness and compassion...Today I choose to love myself...Today I found a sweet card propped against my bathroom mirror left there by my mom...Today I'm grateful that I'm starting to see my mom in a fuller way, not just as a parent, but as a fellow human being with her own goals and dreams...Today I'm planning a trip to my aunt's house for the weekend to take pictures of my newly engaged cousin and although it's family I still get nervous before a portrait session...I'm ready to let go of today...

one of THOSE life moments

we all have THOSE life moments.  moments we know are truly important.  moments we know that when asked years from now to list some of the most memorable moments of your life this moment will be on that list.  moments that cause us to close our eyes and try as hard as we can to etch every detail into our brains so we'll never forget it.  i had one of THOSE moments today.  this afternoon i left work a little early to join a group of strangers in a dimly lit theater to hear Nikki Giovanni, civil rights activist and poet, tell some of her life stories.  i've had many significant life moments and this one joined that list.  it was indescribable. 

i wish i could tell you what it was like to see her step up to the podium, to hear her light-hearted laughter, to hear the words of her poetry from her own mouth.  i wish i could adequately describe her smile, her energy, her humor.  she was everything i expected her to be and nothing i expected.  she didn't read her poetry in the big way maya angelou does (who i've never seen in person, only on tv).  she didn't read it in a soft-spoken way.  she read it like a woman on the phone with her best friend who she hasn't talked to in days, spilling her words quickly and in a tone of familiarity.  she told her stories as if she'd known all of us her whole life, sometimes getting sidetracked, inserting sarcasm here and there, rushing over some of her most important statements, pausing a second so that we could catch it, and then saying, sometimes with a smile on her lips and sometimes with a voice so serious you knew not to cross her, 'well, it's the truth.'  she told stories about living through the death of her mother and shortly thereafter the death of her sister.  she told stories about emmett till and the long trip his mother made from chicago to claim his body, beaten and bloated, no longer recognizable.  she told stories about rosa parks and the significance of the bus ride she took on december 1, 1955.  she read poems she had written in memory of emmett till and in honor of his mother and the porters who stored his body with their personal belongings so that she could take him home where he belonged.  she read poems in honor of the strength and courage, anger and pride, it took his mother to refuse a closed casket funeral.  she read poems she'd written about rosa parks in a be-bop dance style so that kids today would have a way to relate to the significance of what she did.  she told her stories, sometimes with a flash of sarcastic humor, sometimes like a preacher looking for a hearty amen, and we all listened, barely breathing, no one daring to move.  and i don't know about everyone else but i sat there with tears in my eyes.  by the time our afternoon with Nikki was over i had a headache from trying to hold back the tears and it wasn't until i was finally sitting in my car that i let them flow.  she made us laugh, she made us shake our heads in disbelief, she made us gasp in horror, she made us cry, and more than once she made us stand in applause.

after her reading there was a book signing.  i have been carrying a book of her poetry around in my purse for several weeks now.  i've had it with me since the day i saw the poster advertising today's reading.  i stood in line with dozens of others, tears still in my eyes.  but when i reached the table and handed her my book i didn't have her sign it for me.  i told her i had a son who was only four and that he doesn't understand yet, but one day he will, and would she please sign my book for him.  and in the inside cover it now says, to britton, Nikki Giovanni.  by the time he's old enough to begin to understand the importance of the events Ms. Giovanni spoke about the montgomery bus boycott will be 70 plus years in the past.  dr. king will have been gone for over 40 years, emmett till even longer than that.  the stories she shared today will be more a part of history than they are today, some of them lost, some of them forgotten, some of them watered down...that is unless someone keeps telling them...with force, with conviction, without flinching.  and those stories will still be in her poetry, in every word she wrote.  and maybe he'll choose to read them.  and maybe he'll have a clearer picture of the importance of finding your voice and telling your stories, of voicing your anger, of speaking up for equality, of spilling your blood on the page, of fighting with what you've got...even if it's a pen.             

Tears

I finally let myself cry about something I've been holding onto for months.  I've been telling myself to get over it.  I've been trying to convince myself it's no big deal.  I've been telling myself if I was strong, if I was aware, if I was really everything I say I am I wouldn't let this get to me, that instead I would deal with it objectively, and then I've been angry at myself for not having the ability to deal with it objectively.  I've been angry at myself for dealing with it humanly.  And I've been angry at myself for hurting, as if I, as if any of us, can stop the emotions that tend to surface when the world is shifting underneath us and we're struggling to figure out where we belong and what we belong to.  I've been blaming myself, blaming myself for the situation because I couldn't change myself and make myself different.  I've been blaming myself for all the things I couldn't do. 

And then one restless evening while everyone else was sleeping and I was lying in bed staring at the dark ceiling rethinking everything, as I tend to do when I'm replaying something over and over, trying to examine every detail, trying to figure out what I could have done differently so that in the future I won't make the same mistake, I felt something give, just slightly but enough, enough to bring the tears from their hiding place.  In the dark, the only other sounds the breathing of those I share my life with and the creaking of the house as it settles into it's foundation, I let myself cry.  I cried because I realized I'd been beating up on myself for no other reason than being myself.  I've been shaming myself because I couldn't be something I'm not.  I couldn't be different.  I could only be myself.  All this time I've been playing the old 'if I could have one more chance' game, a game that only leads to torture and torment, telling myself if I could have one more chance I could doing everything differently.  But that would mean I'd have to be something, someone, other than myself.  Which is something none of us can ask of ourselves or anyone else.  I've been clinging to shame--ashamed of my personality, my abilities, my limits, my fears, and my humanness. 

When I tell myself I should be different I tell myself I'm not enough just as I am.  When I tell myself I should be someone other than who I am I make myself small.  And I make myself small when I don't allow myself to be what I am--a human, complicated and emotional, born to be in relationships with others and able to hurt when those relationships shift, change, dissolve, fall apart, and don't end up being everything I thought they might be.  And by not allowing myself to feel fully, by not allowing myself to hurt, I sell myself short.

I cried and I prayed and I cried some more.  It didn't change the situation.  It didn't give me any answers.  It didn't solve anything.  But it did move me into a place of deeper compassion and tenderness towards myself and that shift, a shift into acceptance, forgiveness, and self-love, changes me.  It changes the way I see myself, my life, my struggles, my story.  And that kind of change, change that comes from love and not from shame, fear, or force, has residual effects that still linger in the blood after I've cried myself to sleep and then awakened to a new morning with a new perspective and a gentleness that was lost to the pain of shame and blame.      

What I Took with Me from No Country for Old Men

Maybe there will always be a part of me that will push against where I come from.  Maybe there will always be this small piece of me that won't be able to completely come to peace with aspects of my heritage.  Maybe there are some things I will always push against because their familiarity has become binding and limiting and sometimes even boring.  Maybe I'm not alone in this.  Maybe we all have this as one of life's great learning curves.  I acknowledge I will probably always push against the conservatism of West Texas.  I don't see that changing.  I will probably always push against small town limits.  I will probably always push against George W Bush.  I will probably always feel a little self conscious about my strong Texas accent, an accent I'm sometimes worried makes me sound as if I'm not as intelligent as I really am.  I will probably never be able to fully understand some of the beliefs commonly associated with Texas as a whole.  I will probably always have this understanding of Natalie Maines when she made her oh-so-controversial statement about the current president (and by the way Natalie is from my home town.)  I will probably always worry I lack cultural exposure (I remember being a part of a conversation once about pickled herring and thinking, what the hell is picked herring.  But then again they probably aren't familiar with calf frys.)  I will probably always push against generalized statements regarding Texans, statements that assume we're all alike and that we all believe the same things.  I will probably always be drawn to what is different from what I know because different tends to be intriguing.  That is probably why at least once a month I have a very vivid dream about Paris and I wake to find myself aching for a place I know very little about.  That is probably why loosing myself in the streets of Paris some day is one of my life's dreams.  After all, isn't Paris just about the total opposite of West Texas?

But then, despite everything I push against, there will be a little something that pulls me back, not to the limits and the conservatism but to home and everything I know about home.  And when I say home I don't necessarily mean a place.  I mean all those things that make us feel as if we belong to a place and that that place belongs to us, home being more a sense of belonging than a location.  It's those little somethings that allow for moments of peace, moments when I stop pushing and accept where I come from and how where I come from contribute to who I am and who I am becoming.  Little things like Tommy Lee Jones.

I was sitting in a theater several weeks ago watching the critically acclaimed No Country for Old Men.  I enjoyed it, thought it was a very good story, and that it was very well told by the Coen brothers.  I do have to admit I'm not as crazy about it as a lot of critics.  It was good but I wasn't certain it was THAT good.  The one thing I loved most about the film was the performance by Tommy Lee Jones.  Javier Bardem seems to be getting all the attention for his role and that attention is well deserved.  He gave one hell of a performance.  That being said I have to say that for me it was Tommy Lee Jones that stole my heart.  It was Tommy Lee Jones that I found myself watching closely and waiting for his next scene.  I sat in the dark theater noticing the heaviness in his body and on his face, listening to his beautiful Texas accent, and I felt this sudden sense of home, home being everything that was familiar about his character and how all those familiarities gave me a sense of belonging.  I can't say I'm a huge Tommy Lee Jones fan.  I don't know enough about him or his work to make that claim.  I'm not saying every film he's ever made has been brilliant and that he always delivers a stellar performance.  I don't think that's true of any actor.  But what I am saying is that while watching his performance in No Country for Old Men he took me back home, took me back to all the things that are beautiful about my heritage, all the things that are positive about where I come from.  As silly as it may sound everything about his performance reminded me of all I do love about home and reminded me that although I sometimes push against many parts of where I'm from this place still belongs to me...and I still belong to it.  And I left that theater reminded that there really is so much I don't push against, there really are things I do appreciate and value.  There are things I'm proud of.  I left that theater falling a little bit in love with my own Texas accent just because his Texas accent is so completely mesmerizing and comforting in its familiarity.    

Rules of Engagement: Part 2

You may be wondering what prompted yesterday's post, where it came from, and what it was all about.  Two recent incidents made me think about the things we value in ourselves and the things we find beautiful about ourselves...

Incident 1:  It was a Saturday morning and I was preparing to bathe.  I always think it's a romantic idea to lie in the tub while reading a book however it never works quite the way I envision it because inevitably I get the pages all wet and end up frustrated with the whole thing.  This particular morning I had chosen a book of poetry, one I hadn't picked up in several years.  The B-Dog and I have been working on memorizing short poems and I thought I might find one in this book that we could work on together in February.  While I was lying there in the warm water flipping through the pages a flower which I had pressed between the pages of this book at some point in time came fluttering out landing softly on my chest.  It  was paper thin and perfect, the petals a beautiful translucent cream color with tiny pink veins, the stamen, now a nice pale green, lying softly across itself.  I picked it up, fingered it, held it against my lips, then placed it back into the pages of the book to be discovered all over again another day.  But not before I realized I liked the fact that many of my books contain theses pressed treasures.  I truly like this about myself.  It's certainly not unique to me alone but all the small things about us, like pressing flowers in our books, combined as a whole form the skeleton of who we are and that skeleton is fleshed out throughout our lives by experience, choice, personality, up-brining, etc.  All these little things that make us who we are give us our beauty.  And then I begin to think about other little things about myself that I like and value and that I think contribute to my beauty.

Incident 2:  Several days after the pressed flower in the bathtub incident I was lying in bed trying to sleep when I recalled a conversation I had with a friend right before my ex-husband and I split up.  It's hard to believe that will be 10 years ago this upcoming summer.  She had come over after I called her...again...in distress over my crumbling marriage.  I was lying across the love seat, she was lying across the couch, the only light in the room the soft glow of a table side lamp.  I don't remember her exact words but I remember she told me how sad it made her that the person I had married, the person I'd chosen to spend my life with, couldn't see all the things about me that were beautiful, all the things that she could see, all the little things that make me who I am and give me a sense of beauty and individuality.  She hated that the things she found most beautiful and valuable about me meant nothing to him.  She hated that he totally missed me, missed the essence of who I am and the glimmers of beauty that shine in the small things I do everyday...things like pressing flowers between the pages of books.  She hated that he would never appreciate some of the most beautiful aspects of my character.  It has been years since I'd thought about that night and that conversation but I remember how it impacted me at the time and how bits of that conversation helped me to let go of my marriage, to let go of a person who didn't see or appreciate the beauty in me.

Both of these recent incidents made me start to think about what I find beautiful about myself.  They made me consider the things I would like people to see in me, things that I hope they don't miss, things that I hope they consider beautiful as well.  I began to list some of those things in my journal.  I began to wonder who sees these things and values these things about me and who misses them.  And I began to wonder about what others see in me that I don't see, what little, unique things about me they find beautiful that I miss.

We all want to be seen and for me an important part of being seen is hoping others see all those little things I like about myself, the things I value in myself, the things I find beautiful about myself.  Last night's post was about saying to you, to myself, to the universe as a whole, these are a few of those little things...I hope you see them...and I hope you find them beautiful because I find them beautiful...I hope that by holding them up you now see them in a different light.  It was about saying look a little closer because I don't want you to miss this about me because I think it's something that's special about me.  It was about saying, yes I know I'm imperfect but there's beauty in the imperfection, there's a deeper meaning in the messes, there are fascinating intricacies in the compulsions and obsessions, there's something sacred and holy about our everyday processes, and there are little things, often overlooked, often tossed aside, often seen as unimportant, annoying, and sometimes ridiculous that really are important. It seems to be so much easier to criticize myself than to embrace the things I like about myself and creating this small list helped me to be more aware of the things I really do like about myself.  And it help me clarify why I like these particular things...what they mean.  Those little things I like are there, they show up everyday. I need to acknowledge them, embrace them, honor them, and hold them up for others to see knowing some people won't be able to see them but many people will.  I hope you see them.  And I hope you will take some time to think about a few of the things you find beautiful about yourself and that you'll choose to share them with us so that we can also honor them and celebrate them.       

Rules of Engagement: Part 1

...i need you to see me...need you to find the beauty in me...i need you to think i'm beautiful because you can flip through the pages of a book and a flower, pressed between the pages for god only knows how long, will come fluttering out, landing softly on your chest...i need you to think i'm beautiful because commercials make me cry...and Oscar acceptance speeches fill me with tears...and Deal or No Deal never fails to choke me up...because the pain of others touches me...but so does their joy...i need you to understand and find beauty in the fact that i hold all those tears tightly behind my eyes unsure of how to let them go...i need you to think i'm beautiful because i can look at my son and fall completely and utterly in love with him over and over again...because i can stare at his little toes and never cease to be fascinated by them...because every time i notice a new way in which he has grown i am lost in astonishment...i need you to find beauty in my love of poetry...i don't need you to love poetry but i need you to love that i love poetry...that it moves me...that the way poets use words fascinates me...that poetry is the way in which i have found to share my own secrets...and if you'd occasionally let me share one of my favorite pieces with you...maybe even let me read it aloud to you...not because you're crazy about poetry but because you know the poetry i'm drawn to at any given time says a lot about where i'm at with myself and my life and you want to know that about me then all the better...i need you to find beauty in the messes i leave behind after a few hours of creating...i need you to understand what those messes represent...that it's about me finding out about me...and i need you to think that is beautiful...i need you to think i'm beautiful because i like to go to movies and restaurants alone...because i'm not afraid to be with only myself...i need you to give me the space to yell and curse and cry and maybe even throw a few things around without taking it personally...i need you to understand that it's only about giving myself permission to act out, to let out what stays pent inside...i need you to think i'm beautiful because i have the courage to give myself that permission...i need you to understand that i pull inside myself...sometimes to protect myself...most of the time to restore myself...i need you to honor those times i pull inside...i need you to think i'm beautiful because i need those times to slip away, rest, and find myself again...but if i'm gone too long please come and find me because my withdrawal can easily turn into depression...i know it's a very fine line, one that's often hard to decipher and distinguish, but i need you to do that for me...and you'll be relieved to know you don't have to say a word...you just have to crawl up beside me in my darkness, pull me close, and let your breath rest on the back of my neck...i need you to think i'm beautiful because i write...because my writing is so very important to me...i need you to see it's power...i need you to let my words fall over you...sometimes i need you to lie to me...tell me my photograph, my poem, is your favorite, the best you've ever seen/heard...not because i want a foundation of lies but because i have a hard time finding my own worth and sometimes i need to believe something, even if it's not quite the truth, so that i can become strong enough, confident enough, to find and accept the truth...i need you to think i'm beautiful because movies are so important to me...it's not because i'm shallow...it's because i sometimes think i was born in the wrong time period...that i should have been born when Hollywood was young and new...and movies were few and far between...and Clark Gable, Myrna Loy, Greta Garbo, Jean Harlow, Cary Grant and others ruled the screen...and because i didn't get to live through that remarkable time period i am doing the best i can with what i have...i need you to think i'm beautiful because people fascinate me...because i can get totally absorbed in a person when i find him/her so incredibly fascinating...i need you to understand that i'm drawn to them because i see something in them that gives me a clearer picture of who i am...or because they show me something in myself i have not been able to reach...i need you to find beauty in the way i find pieces of myself through pieces of someone else...i need you to find beauty in my messy, overrun, stacked to tumbling, bedside table because everything piled on it is a sign of someone of passion...i need you to think i'm beautiful because i laugh loud and full...because sometimes in a dark movie theater my laugh is so loud people turn and look at me...i need you to see the beauty in that because so often i hold back and those few times i don't are really moments to be celebrated...i need you to think i'm beautiful because sometimes i step outside just to feel the cold rain on my skin, because sometimes i call you on the phone to make sure you're watching the sun set, because i like to step outside and watch the clouds shift colors, because i like to get in my car and drive around tree gazing...i need you to think i'm beautiful because i'm able to find little bits of beauty all around me...in things that some people don't even notice...i need you to think i'm beautiful because at this very moment i am working on memorizing Poe's The Raven just for the hell of it...just because i think it would be fun to memorize it...i need you to think i'm beautiful because i'm more like a cat than a dog...a little standoffish but once i trust you, once i feel comfortable with you, i'll crawl right up in your lap and give you all of myself...every last piece...i need you to think i'm beautiful because i have a hunger for god...have always had a hunger for god...i need you to see the courage it takes to explore what that hunger means...to see the courage it takes to try and not limit what it might mean...i need you to think i'm beautiful because i'm open to the exploration and i'm willing to go where some people are too afraid to go...i need you to think it's beautiful that loving myself is so important to me...i need you to think i'm beautiful because i'm trying to do my part to take care of this world...and because i have a little crush on Al Gore...i need you to think i'm beautiful because i want to capture the poetry of the world through my photography...i need you to think i'm beautiful because i am trying so hard to live fully, bravely, fearlessly and with an open heart and mind...i need you to think i'm beautiful because i am committed to finding my voice and my vision even when i'm not certain what that means...i just know i ache and that i have to follow the ache...i need you to think that one of the most beautiful things about me is the ache...

what do you need people to see?...what do you want others to find beautiful about you?...

Sunday Scribblings {Fellow Traveler}

Dear Fellow Traveler,

If you were sitting beside me right now, sipping a cup of tea and listening to Damien Rice while the wind howls at the window, I would tell you it's an honor to travel life's path with you, that I'm glad you stopped by.  I would tell you it's nice to share this moment with a fellow seeker, that this pilgrimage is long and tiring and it's good to have made a friend.  I would tell you that lately there have been more days that have left me feeling drained and exhausted than days that have filled me with renewed energy.  I would tell you that I've wrestled a lot with doubt lately.  I've doubted myself, my talent, my value, my place, that I've questioned who and what I belong to.  I would tell you that lately God has had soft brown eyes, the kind that make your heart well up just a little, but I'm only able to see them in the stillness and it's sometimes so hard to quiet my distracted mind, a mind that keeps getting lost in stories of things I want and the person I'd like to be.  I would tell you that last night in the tube a memory came to mind, a memory about a piece of art a friend of mine created some years ago after realizing that both the words lie and the word Eve lie within the word BELIEVE.  I would tell you that memory seemed to surface as I've wrestled with a few lies that I unwillingly (and maybe sometimes willingly) bought into.  I would tell you how these lies shut me off from the rest of the world, from people I really want to give my whole self to.  I would tell you how much I hate that I believe them.  I would tell you that some days there is something in my chest that wants to break open and that some days I think I could cut my chest open to get to it, to set it free, but you really can't rush these things, even when you think if you don't at least try you might die.  I would tell you how the aching leaves me feeling as if I can't breathe.  I would tell you that the other evening I was getting my son ready for bed and in the course of conversation I said something about always being good enough and he looked at me quizzically and asked, "Mom, what does good enough mean?" and I wondered when in life it happens that we go from not even knowing what the term 'good enough' means to spending the vast majority of our time trying to be good enough, or trying to believe we are in fact good enough.  I would tell you that good enough has been on my mind lately, that good enough has been tied into my prayers, that good enough is the tears right behind my eyes.  I would tell you that good enough is such a crippling concept and I wish I knew how to go back to the days of not knowing what it meant to be anything other than exactly who and what I truly am.  I would tell you there is something deep inside me I can't get to and that it drives me mad because if I could get to it, if I could just get to it...well, there's no telling what might happen.  I would tell you I'm scared and sometimes I think I know why and other times I seem to be scared for no good reason at all.  I would tell you how badly I want to write the ache out, to give it form, but I can't quite get it right.  I would tell you that what's worse than not being able to give it the right words is thinking it might one day go away and that would be so much worse because I know in truth the words come from the ache and I need the words, I have to have the words, it's the words that give me life.  I would tell you some secrets I've been holding, secrets about things I want and how I don't understand why I can't have them.  I would tell you that I really know they're not mine to have and that I wish knowing that was enough but it's not...not yet anyway.  I would tell you about some things I've come to understand lately, things I haven't talked to anyone about because I'm afraid they'd think I was crazy, I'm afraid they wouldn't understand, but I know you would fellow traveler because you're learning similar things about yourself and like me you know the way we learn them can't be questioned or judged.  I would tell you I've been trying to pray but I can't remember how.  I would tell you sometimes I forget God exists.  I would tell you I'm happy but not full, I'm satisfied but not finished.  I would tell you I'm not the person sitting in front of you and you would understand exactly what I mean by that.  I would tell you I'm not afraid to break apart because there's something healing about breaking to pieces.  I would tell you all those pieces cut my hands but that's okay because I need to break.  I would tell you some days there is a fire but most days I'm just too tired to care whether it keeps burning or dwindles out.  I would tell you about my failings and then I would ask you to help me dig through them to find my success.  I would tell you the world within me is often more real than the world outside me and that I'm learning to be okay with that, that I'm learning not to erase the inner world.  I would tell you I wish I could be this transparent, this real and honest, this raw and vulnerable with everyone.  I would tell you all these things and we would cry, not because we're weak and defeated, not because we feel sorry for ourselves but because we've been holding on to the tears a little too tightly and it's time to let them go. 

And now fellow traveler it's your turn to share the things you've been holding.  I'm here listening.  I'm here ready and willing to cry a little with you because I know, I know you have to let them go.