There is a song that has been itching its way through my heart. It is a song that I haven't heard in a long time, and there are reasons that my brain is still trying to ignore it. It weasels its way through my bones and out into my fingertips.
It says, settle.
For the past four years I have been running. And it took me four years to realize I wasn't running TO anything but rather running AWAY.
There is a part of me that surrounds my soul. Less than an iron fist: more like a moist, limp handshake. A tinkling voice in my head and keeps me from realizing my whole self. It whispers late at night and only recently did I acknowledge it.
It says, You don't belong.
And that is why the open road has been such a great appeal. Because I can't belong. I can't belong to any town when I only stay a night. I can't belong to anyone if I leave all new friends within the week. And so, for awhile, I entertained this voice. I came up with excuses, and they were good ones too.
And so, a couple of months ago, when I started to think about attending college, this voice once again came out of the shadows. I was excited about school. I felt ready to sit and learn. I felt ready to feel safe and bake in my own kitchen. I felt ready to stay. Something I haven't felt since I was 15.
And then my mind began in it's usual fashion. Well, school would be ok, but I think I would get sick of it. I can't handle a year long lease. What if I get bored? I think I need to road again. College is overrated anyways. I have done fine for the past couple of years without it.
But behind all that, behind the voice that I have been hearing and listening to, came something else. At first it was just a whisper. Like a wrinkle in the sheets. Like the burn of cigarette paper. And for the first time in my life, I acknowledged it. I heard something else, and even though it hadn't quite surfaced yet, I knew it was something important.
Settle. That word is still so scary to me. For someone who has lived by her own rules for a few years, the idea of being "stuck in one place" is terrifying.
But I kept listening and eventually my soul grew stronger. It says, stay a year, and just see what happens. See what you learn by staying. Watch the trees turn orange, and then fall off, and then witness the magic of spring after winter. Bake bread in a kitchen that is all yours. Buy a cookbook and then make dinner in a house that is all yours.
Stop running and listen.
This is not to say that my adventures have been tainted. I have been wild my whole life and there is a real part of me that can only be satisfied by adventure.
I am still not ready. I still hear a voice saying that I don't belong. But this time, there is something else there. Something fighting back and saying, you don't need that.
Do you have something encasing your soul? Something that keeps you from shining like you did the moment you took your first breath.
Scared to try and find something different that running. But my heart is ready and my head just needs to catch up.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Sick and tired of being sick and tired
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sYdiAz4ddIg
Somewhere along the road I lost where I stand. Swinging back and forth between paths, between opinions, between sad and tired. Eminem woke me up yesterday. "I can endure no more, I demand you remember who you are."
When did it become so hard to be ME? Simply be the big beautiful being I know I am. Why do I lose myself again and again, and go through these periods until I emerge on the other side. How many more times am I going to struggle, continue falling, then pick myself up. I am sick of it! I want to be happy. I am tried of these peaks and valleys that plague me throughout the year.
Why can't I just remember?
I know I am better than this. And even though I recognize it, I somehow find it impossible to get out of this funk.
Sad because I am sad.
Confusion, frustration, anger, weakness, wondering where that damn light is.
I tell myself that this is all part of growing up. But it is a hell of a lot easier to say that on the other side of this fog.
Have faith in this. Have faith in the process and understanding of sadness. Have faith in letting yourself feel it without any inhibitions. Have faith that letting myself feel is the only thing that will work through it.
And yet, faith can be the hardest thing to find.
Somewhere along the road I lost where I stand. Swinging back and forth between paths, between opinions, between sad and tired. Eminem woke me up yesterday. "I can endure no more, I demand you remember who you are."
When did it become so hard to be ME? Simply be the big beautiful being I know I am. Why do I lose myself again and again, and go through these periods until I emerge on the other side. How many more times am I going to struggle, continue falling, then pick myself up. I am sick of it! I want to be happy. I am tried of these peaks and valleys that plague me throughout the year.
Why can't I just remember?
I know I am better than this. And even though I recognize it, I somehow find it impossible to get out of this funk.
Sad because I am sad.
Confusion, frustration, anger, weakness, wondering where that damn light is.
I tell myself that this is all part of growing up. But it is a hell of a lot easier to say that on the other side of this fog.
Have faith in this. Have faith in the process and understanding of sadness. Have faith in letting yourself feel it without any inhibitions. Have faith that letting myself feel is the only thing that will work through it.
And yet, faith can be the hardest thing to find.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Seeds
Something wet falls on my head. Please don't let it be bird shit. But it is a drop of water. Here is the sign I have been looking for. Plip plop dulop. Speak.
I was not born like this. I grew like this.
Grew. Grew into this being that knows better, but rarely does better. That thinks in rhymes and poems, and speaks plain so no one will think twice.
Born? You want to know what I was born like? A being that could change the world, that painted the sunsets, that wished on stars, that was meant to be BIG. Bigger than anyone in her life, expanding over the world, on talk shows and radio, NPR's most sought out guest. Born to live and to live like a firecracker.
This is the sign you have been waiting for. Stop waiting to be the biggest being you can be. The world is calling for you to live like you were born to be. More importantly your heart is calling you. The crook inside your ventricles that begs the word soul is tired of being cramped up and unused.
It is time to put the pen on the page. The ballet shoes on the wood floor. The wheels on the road. It is time to use the light that you were born with.
Seeds do not think about how to grow up. They know they are to be an onion or a pea pod or a strawberry and with a little love, light and soil they grow up right. We human beings get lost somewhere between being a seed and a strawberry.
This is the sign that says blossom.
I was not born like this. I grew like this.
Grew. Grew into this being that knows better, but rarely does better. That thinks in rhymes and poems, and speaks plain so no one will think twice.
Born? You want to know what I was born like? A being that could change the world, that painted the sunsets, that wished on stars, that was meant to be BIG. Bigger than anyone in her life, expanding over the world, on talk shows and radio, NPR's most sought out guest. Born to live and to live like a firecracker.
This is the sign you have been waiting for. Stop waiting to be the biggest being you can be. The world is calling for you to live like you were born to be. More importantly your heart is calling you. The crook inside your ventricles that begs the word soul is tired of being cramped up and unused.
It is time to put the pen on the page. The ballet shoes on the wood floor. The wheels on the road. It is time to use the light that you were born with.
Seeds do not think about how to grow up. They know they are to be an onion or a pea pod or a strawberry and with a little love, light and soil they grow up right. We human beings get lost somewhere between being a seed and a strawberry.
This is the sign that says blossom.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Chilean Nights
Your friend has a clock in his car that he never bothered to fix. It begs 9:13 but I know it must be around 1. You are an endless supply of beer. Cans seem to appear in your arms like stars you pulled down.
You are an idiot.
But you gave me a bed, a room, and a dusty drive. I barely understand you but you are quick to laugh. The bed is lumpy with covers scattered, but at least you stay in your own room. I have not paid even close to my share.
We tear around back roads and then lonesome walks on deserted lake walk-ways. The air tastes sweet, like wine and orange juice.
You are a friend of a friend of a friend, and I hinge on trusting you. The words you speak are barely spanish. But my gut nodded while my heart squeaked a small protest. In the end I always curl my toes over the edge, cross my fingers and jump. Luckily the net was there this time.
Stars and cellphone towers hang in the air.
3 stray dogs wander around a gym while a comedy festival breathes on. The air is thick and I quickly add to it.
I dream of my dog and wake up sad.
How many places will I try to remember, try to implant before the fleeting second is gone and I am out on the road again.
You are an idiot.
But you gave me a bed, a room, and a dusty drive. I barely understand you but you are quick to laugh. The bed is lumpy with covers scattered, but at least you stay in your own room. I have not paid even close to my share.
We tear around back roads and then lonesome walks on deserted lake walk-ways. The air tastes sweet, like wine and orange juice.
You are a friend of a friend of a friend, and I hinge on trusting you. The words you speak are barely spanish. But my gut nodded while my heart squeaked a small protest. In the end I always curl my toes over the edge, cross my fingers and jump. Luckily the net was there this time.
Stars and cellphone towers hang in the air.
3 stray dogs wander around a gym while a comedy festival breathes on. The air is thick and I quickly add to it.
I dream of my dog and wake up sad.
How many places will I try to remember, try to implant before the fleeting second is gone and I am out on the road again.
Old Beginnings
Smoke furls through the air and twirls its way into your nostrils. It reaches down and plucks a heartstring like a harp of time and rings, "remember?" Remember when you didn't care. And you laughed all the way to a bloody end.
Remember when every moment was a suggestion.
Remember when your feet didn't hurt.
Look at you now. You are taller and prettier. But you don't throw your glass on the floor--you place it there quietly. And you don't light up a hand-rolled cigarette--Now the smoke makes your head hurt.
And you spend about half as much money at the club because beer makes your stomach hurt.
It makes you sad. To wonder which is the shadow.
You are happier now. Right?
Imagine that you never grabbed on.
Remember when every moment was a suggestion.
Remember when your feet didn't hurt.
Look at you now. You are taller and prettier. But you don't throw your glass on the floor--you place it there quietly. And you don't light up a hand-rolled cigarette--Now the smoke makes your head hurt.
And you spend about half as much money at the club because beer makes your stomach hurt.
It makes you sad. To wonder which is the shadow.
You are happier now. Right?
Imagine that you never grabbed on.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Opposites
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KBrx0heRem8
Why do I do this again and again?
Why don't I protect my heart more?
Why can't I just settle down and be satisfied?
I am about to leave. Again. I am about to jump off the deep end. Again. And with every beginning there is a pull at my heartstrings. Again.
Living has caused my heart to expand to depths I never imagined. And that expansion has left spaces that cannot always be filled. A little niche that holds every family who has taken me in. A niche that holds every stranger that every pointed the right way. A large niche for my home. A cupboard full of family and best friends. We cannot always keep those spaces filled. But it is important that they are there. It is important to let yourself go every time.
I am not ready to dance yet. I am not ready to let go again. But I know that it is my time. It is time again to kick out the dusty boots, put on the backpack, hold hands and take a deep breath. Or 50 deep breaths. Or however many it takes until my stomach stops clenching and I remember why I am doing this
Because to live, for me, is to move. Is to dance, is to twirl, is to sparkle my way into every corner, like the glitter that spilled and you still find in the crooks and crannys of your dresser. Like that shooting star you won't ever forget because he finally kissed you then. Like that oven fire on Thanksgiving, like that roman candle war, like that cowboy bandit thrown out of the window.
I am afraid. But don't let that stop you. Or at least that is what I have to tell myself. Where is the line between gut gear and chest fear? One you know tells you what you are doing is wrong, and the other tells you that it is right, just be aware.
It hurts to leave. My soul twists and turns like a corkscrew opening wine on a night when you're left alone to drink. But the more you ache the more you know that you have loved to the fullest. Can't have the sweet without the sour. Without an opposite we lose meaning. Yes cannot exist without a No. Light would not exist without darkness.
Pour it out your eyes. The aching will not leave, but the love won't either.
Why do I do this again and again?
Why don't I protect my heart more?
Why can't I just settle down and be satisfied?
I am about to leave. Again. I am about to jump off the deep end. Again. And with every beginning there is a pull at my heartstrings. Again.
Living has caused my heart to expand to depths I never imagined. And that expansion has left spaces that cannot always be filled. A little niche that holds every family who has taken me in. A niche that holds every stranger that every pointed the right way. A large niche for my home. A cupboard full of family and best friends. We cannot always keep those spaces filled. But it is important that they are there. It is important to let yourself go every time.
I am not ready to dance yet. I am not ready to let go again. But I know that it is my time. It is time again to kick out the dusty boots, put on the backpack, hold hands and take a deep breath. Or 50 deep breaths. Or however many it takes until my stomach stops clenching and I remember why I am doing this
Because to live, for me, is to move. Is to dance, is to twirl, is to sparkle my way into every corner, like the glitter that spilled and you still find in the crooks and crannys of your dresser. Like that shooting star you won't ever forget because he finally kissed you then. Like that oven fire on Thanksgiving, like that roman candle war, like that cowboy bandit thrown out of the window.
I am afraid. But don't let that stop you. Or at least that is what I have to tell myself. Where is the line between gut gear and chest fear? One you know tells you what you are doing is wrong, and the other tells you that it is right, just be aware.
It hurts to leave. My soul twists and turns like a corkscrew opening wine on a night when you're left alone to drink. But the more you ache the more you know that you have loved to the fullest. Can't have the sweet without the sour. Without an opposite we lose meaning. Yes cannot exist without a No. Light would not exist without darkness.
Pour it out your eyes. The aching will not leave, but the love won't either.
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