Sometimes you know and bury that knowing underneath petitions like, I should do this, or this is expected of me, or people will be disappointed, and that process is called forgetting. Trying on faces and wanting them to fit. They don't and this is called confusion. By this time, you've forgotten what it is and wonder what is going on and why is this not what you thought, and small things trigger small thoughts that remind you of that thing, your thing, the knowing. Seeing an image in a perfect swell of music. Fresh raspberries. Always, the stars opening and closing. Red lipstick, yellow dresses, fuzz on a peach, the way things fit together. Hands moving, holding each other. Driving past yellow lights of windows in the black blue of night. A moment that triggers a dream you had, but before you can stuff it away, you grab the ends of it by the hands and say, wait. And, what was that?
This part of yours that knows is like an old friend that you lost touch with in coming and going, only now, you're remembering how things used to be and how you wanted them to be and how they aren't that way now, so you suck it up. You call her up. You apologize. You say, coffee? with a sad laugh. And when you get together, it's awkward, hesitant, neither of you look like you remember. You're meeting a piece of yourself that you pushed away for years and coming to terms with who you are feels like clawing tooth and nail and howling because you're looking yourself in the face and saying, I don't know you. But you sit there. You drink your chai. You drink your caramel coffee. You have another cup, get a strawberry scone, force yourself to be still. But most importantly, you listen. You don't interject what you thought, what you think. You listen and listen and not say a word, and when she is done talking, you are weeping. Shaking from apologizing. Waking up.
You have another cup of coffee. Calm down. Now what? And she's laughing and saying, well, you know now, you remember. So, go do, kiddo. And you're laughing, what, it can't be that easy? But she's got a smile borne out of waiting and shakes her head slow, sipping the rest of her tea. It's not that easy, but it's that simple. You know. Her smiles slips and she's serious now, holding your hands in hers. To not go after it now is to say your desires don't matter. That your authentic center isn't worth it. That your deepest beliefs and truest hopes and realest loves can't measure up. That your story, message, song isn't enough. Don't do that.
Now you're at the door and you can choose to part ways, say thanks for the coffee, let's talk again soon. Or, you can listen. And you can let go, let go, let go of what you thought, of all the shoulds and coulds and woulds. And you can be brave enough to start over and live out what makes you come alive. You know, a part of you knows, that the same part in your heart that stings listening to this music or cries from that film or feels lopsided and soft in your hands is the same part that knows what you're supposed to be doing, what you want to be doing, what's your thing. Maybe it's like finding out that you knew where home was the entire time, that it wasn't where you thought or what you dreamed, but upon discovering it, walking into it, you realize it's better than what you thought you wanted.
"We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us." - Joseph Campbell
And to that, I can only say amen.
No comments :
Post a Comment