Perfectly Being

I think when I began the journey to finding peace and joy in life, I thought there was going to be some kind of "sign" or heavenly orchestra that would let me know I had "made it."

I thought all my sadness would end and life would turn into this cake-walk of riches and husband and happy little home by the river. 

I had this image of dancing lightly with whatever remainder of years there were.

In the self-help books I read, it seemed so simple and achievable. These terribly broken people became rich and famous doing what they liked...so why couldn't I? All I had to do was put in the effort, and BAM...dreams do come true....right?!?!?!?!?

After wading through the last few years of ever increasing futility.

After reading, searching, finding the light and learning how to navigate it...

What do I have to show for it?

I'm single. Broke. People don't want to book their portraits with me. I have no idea if I will continue to slug it out alone or if I will admit that maybe it's time to try a different career. I could seriously become depressed.

Yet, I'm not.

With great peace and clarity, I realized that I didn't do all that work for nothing. I'm actually ok.

I'm alright with being single, because even though I would love to fall asleep with comfortable arms holding me-

I have learned that my own company is enough. That I deserve to be loved in a manner fitting me, not in a way that gives me company but leaves me feeling hollow and unwanted.

I'm okay with being broke, I know my needs will be met when the time comes. Having nothing only makes me appreciate what I do have that much more.

It's fine that people are taking their time booking with me. I know that those who need me will find me when the timing is right.

I am open to a different career, if an opportunity presents itself that feels right.

There is no depression, because when I am blue, I recognize the sadness and let it go. It has a right to be, so I'm no longer struggling against it.

So all the work I have put in IS paying off. Perhaps not in the way I wanted it to, or dreamed it would be. But I'm not dead yet either.

Other benefits have come along the way.

Such as I feel free, and beautiful. 

At 37, I can look at a photograph of myself or in the mirror and smile. I see my worth. I can openly love others without taking their issues on as my own. I am not weighed down with regret or guilt.

It was all worthwhile, even today-

That doesn't mean I'm all filled with roses and kitten fur. Not at all.

I am dark and stinky. I have anger that boils to the edges and rages in the dark. But I don't live there any more. Instead I look at these and say, "hey, that's not who I am, so you can be done now." I am not ashamed of it, because it is just another part of life. 

I feel jealousy and doubt. But I refuse to let it control me or change what I know to be true. This means I won't deny or confirm the words these emotions whisper. 

I realized that no enlightenment trumpet is going to sound. The dreams of reaching a goal and riding out the rest of life is never going to happen.

I also realized I'm okay with that. The little epiphanies and shameful truths will continue to speckle my days with laughter and tears.

I don't think it's about being perfect.

I think it's about perfectly being...and that means accepting every tiny bit of up and down along the way.

Flow

There is nothing quite like sitting in the sun by a waterfall. It soothes away the rough edges and warms the soul. Like placing a smile upon the blanket that wraps the heart.

I don't enjoy battling my body. Yet I find the struggle real, forgetting to just let it wash away.

I don't enjoy feeling blue. Yet it takes me to dark places so that I can find a way to let them flow freely.

Now and then, it must be important to just sit. It must be real, with the wind and back spray brushing my hair and speckling my glasses. The warmth from the outside oozing in to relax my furrowed brow. 

Now and then I remember. Life isn't really that difficult, it just seems so while I'm beating my head against the rocks. 

And maybe there is no tomorrow...

But today, 

Well today I'll find that everything is just the way it ought to be.

Any Way

You came in to my life.
One day a stranger, the next day my friend.
Some days it was like we had always been this way, two souls in one space.
Other days I was reminded of how little I actually knew of you.
Before long, you became a habit.
Constant banter of a back and forth to be continued.
Now and then your actions stung.
You said things I didn't understand, but I loved you any way.
When we drew apart, or a silence fell between us, I loved you any way.
When you did things I thought were strange, or I could not agree with, I loved you any way.
Your smile lit up my world, and in no time we were once again connected.
Nothing forgotten, but I loved you any way.
You let me down, disappointed me.
I loved you any way.
You hurt my feelings, betrayed me.
I loved you any way.
Sometimes a touch of jealousy would creep in.
You having fun, while I was not there.
I felt you could easily replace me.
Still, I loved you any way.
I said things to you I could not take back.
Things meant to be hurtful, from a place I did not want to let out.
I needed your forgiveness.
I loved you any way.
Time goes by.
When I glance back at where we have been;
So much, and yet so little in the span of a life.
Days slip by and your words resonate.
Our time together is absorbed in to the fabric of my being.
I love you any way.

Attention

"My, my. Look whose all over Facebook with there selfys. Looking for a little attention??? I wouldnt have taken U for quite the showoff. I guess U don't know a person until U follow there feed." ((Winky face, shock face, sick face emojis))

Yea, I guess you really don't.

Inspirational Quote for the day:

With ten fingers to choose from, I've only got two I'd pick for you.

Ladies, gents, my peeps and theirs...

This blog goes out to each and every one of you snapping 50 selfies to get one...

Post them.

Tag them. Litter them all over the place like confetti on a windy day.

We are not seeking attention.

We are not showing off or flaunting.

We are not fat or ugly or wrinkly or scarred.

We are using social media to be. Be us. Be free. Be acknowledged on this planet in this space. 

We won't be here forever. Actually, only a flash in the pan. 

And you, who sneer at us.

Do it too. 

Stop scrolling through our stuff so you can remark about our narcissistic rituals. Get up, snap a selfie and hashtag the hell out of it. Got a zit today? Download an editing app and get working.

Life is way too short to not.

Life is way too awesome to waste with being all bitter and grumpy.

Smile.

Snap,snap.

Post.

Tag yourself 10 times and share to Instagram.

Ice Cold

I disappeared, for a little while. Straying off the path of fortitude.

I cried, daily.

I tried, hourly.

I cared and cared, so much that my chest was caving in with every breath.

I wondered, was that me?

Is this who I have become?

This weepy, weak, sensitive bundle of womanhood. Smiling and saying "I'm fine" to anyone who asked. Being "real" in this made-up fantasy where ladies do this or that.

I strung pearls and sang hymns, koom-by-ahh-Ing the shit out of my open heart.

But that sucked.

Being a lady and doing lady stuff is not fun for me. Koodo's to my women-folk who can pull off being a lady! Don't know how you do it. I actually really dig belching, it feels good and is way better then swallowing it and waiting with my knees crossed for privacy to fart.

I did it because I thought that's what I actually wanted.

I did it because I've wondered to myself if I have it in me, and what it might be like.

I did it because I thought "he" (whoever he is or was) wanted that, and maybe, just maybe, I could snag a happily ever after in woman-land.

Then, what happened, was I threw that in the f**k-it bucket. 

I realized that's not who I am.

I'm sensitive, but not soft.

I'm loving, but not gooey.

I don't care about make-up or dresses. I could care less about romance novels and moon-lit serenades.

I don't want to be swept off my feet.

What I want is me.

Laughing, wearing yoga pants that make them stop in their tracks and go "damn"!

Being the one to say "aw muffin" and "suck it up buttercup". The one that has an annual cry-fest whether I need it or not. The one that people can say anything to, and I accept it because it isn't about me, and I get that. The one who is loyal like a dog and vicious like a sprung cougar.

The ice queen.

The bloody unicorn.

The water-logged siren with sharp teeth, mermaid tail, and the propensity to devour.

No sparkles and lipstick. Just ripped jeans and hoodies. No tears and I-love-you's. Just stone cold stares and the matter of fact I-do-you-know's.

And "him" (whoever he may be), isn't going to be some knight in shining armour soaring in to save the day on his noble steed. 

Nah.

He's going to be that guy who knows that pulling my hair and grabbing my neck makes me purr. 

He will know that what's under my hoodie is worth coming home to. He will know that my softness emerges just enough to love unconditionally, but I will shut that down the instant I feel threatened.

And that will be enough.

Until then, I'm going to get used to being alright with the fact that I'm not a lady, but I'm a power-house woman.

I'll wear a dress now and then, but not to make anyone else happy or to prove a point. I'll stop stringing pearls and admit surgical steel and silver make me happy. I might not live in an ice castle and run around singing about letting stuff go...but I will indeed embrace the comfortable chill of my icy exterior. 

Because maybe it's not from "being broken"...maybe it's just my own kind of magic.

Her & Him

So there's this song, you can't seem to listen to it without hearing her in your memory.

You even glance over now and then to see if she's sitting there beside you, laughing in the sun.

He had this way about him that you can't seem to forget. The way he looked at you. The way his voice changed when he said your name.

That smell on the breeze carries her to you. Maybe only a glimpse of her hair, a highlight in the crowd.

And that thing he used to say, it makes your skin crawl to hear it slither out of someone else's lips. But you can't help but smile, since you can close your eyes and see his jawline as he spoke in profile.

Now and then, your heart stops when she skips across your thoughts. 

Now and then, your throat tightens when he walks across your thoughts.

You race after her a moment, chasing the way it felt to stand beside her.

You curl up around yourself for a moment, missing the feeling of his hand in yours.

Then you place her aside. 

Then you put him away.

Forever is a long time to live hollow.

 

Calla Lily

I was me for a moment, tears streaming and chest caving.

The me that held out her hands and asked what she did wrong.

The me that couldn't compare to all the lovely daffodils.

The me that is easy to lie to and easy to dismiss as waste.

I let that me sit there, I embraced her.

She was so angry. Strangled cries that escape from agonized breath. The kind I don't like listening to. The kind that shred my heart.

She was so lost and confused.

Why again?

I didn't know what to tell her.

I tried to protect her, but she wanted so bad to be seen. She had to try.

Though I shake my head sadly, wishing she had just listened; I also hold her tightly. 

I tuck that me into bed. I tell her a story.

I choose to tell her a fairytale, it soothes her. 

"You don't need to be lovely." I whisper in her silent sobs. "You don't need to be chosen, not one bit."

She looks at me in the windows reflection. Eyes half shut and heavy. 

"Why?" That me asks.

"Silly Rabbit, there is no comparison. 

Some choose roses.

Some choose daffodils.

But the one who chooses the simple Calla Lily recognizes the subtle scent and elegance without a need for show.

You, my dear, are a Calla Lily."