This is me this morning at approximately 8:30 am. I slept in my makeup. My hair is pulled back in a ponytail. I felt sad, heavy, enlightened, raw, beautiful... like me. I wanted to see what that looked like so I flipped on the webcam and this is what I got.
I look like my mother. I look like my father. I am a full-fledged adult now, just like they were in my memories. I am feeling more like them by day, by the minute. It seems the complexity of adulthood is now firmly set on my shoulders, boggling my mind. It's like I'm trying to pin the tail on the motherfucking donkey. I'm blindfolded and dizzy. In total darkness and disoriented. I have more compassion for what they went through as people than I ever thought I would.
I understand their movements, their thoughts, why they did what they did. And considering that neither one of them was a fulfilled, happy human being, the fact that I'm relating to their own journeys upsets me. I was hoping for an adulthood free of agonizing doubt and wanting what I can't have.
It boils down to this: What is the meaning of Life? To Success? Is it in wanting what you have? Or in knowing the difference between now and later?
The question isn't is the secret wanting nothing and being happy with nothing?, but about being content with what's in front of you, both now and later. Are you only successful and happy in Life if you have what you think you want? Can you be secretly happy? Retroactively happy? -- And I can insert any number of adjectives to replace happy. Like: fulfilled, content, sated, gratified, satisfied, accomplished.
Am I even thinking of the right words to apply to a life??
Jesus, this makes my head hurt.
It wasn't that long ago that most of the human population on the planet was consumed with the most basic needs of Maslow's Hierarchy. Today I feel so horribly lost somewhere in the tip of all of it.
That image of my tattoo, that indelible mark that I hastily needled into my tender skin in January, it is a constant reminder that I am free to be me. I love that ink more with each passing day and can't ever imagine not having it to admire whenever I choose.
I feel like I am a rock that has been thrown across a river. I was gripped, handled roughly, fondled with admiration, then I was slung with a heavy arm away from that tender hand high into the sky. -- The view from here is beautiful, by the way. I can see the meadow beyond the riverbanks and crisp, white clouds above me. Birds are nesting, bunnies are making bunny-love, deer nibbling shoots from the ground.
My life seems so plotted and yet so blurry. How is that even possible??
He who binds to himself a joy
Doth the winged life destroy.
He who kisses the joy as it flies,
Lives in eternity's sunrise.
- William Blake