Dichotomy
How did I get here where I am right now? There is a part of me, yelling, screaming, the part that's a renegade, an outlaw. Someone far beyond who I see in the mirror right now. Yet I walk the normal . . . and I pay the price. I don't know how to break the cycle of my everyday persona, the one I took as mine when I found out that I had to work, had to make a living if I wanted a roof over my head and food in my belly. I so admire the people who follow the stirrings of their heart and never look back. I was (and still am) too afraid -- of what? Hell if I know. How did I get to be this old and still not know who I am? There are times when I just want to get in my car and drive away, far away, but the trouble with that is I'm still bringing the lost me with me. Can the lost find a way to not-lost? I used to have vivid dreams (many of which I still remember) that I believe told me to get off the road I'm trudging on and take the proverbial less traveled path. But I didn't listen and the dreams went away and now I'm up against a wall, my bleeding fingers clawing at its solidness.
I wish I had words of wisdom for me and anyone else feeling like they're a mountain climber in a nun's habit. But I don't. What will happen is I will wake up in the morning and go on with my ordinary life, the same clothes, the same commute, the same lunch, the same work and home tasks, but I will, like I do every day, look for beauty and spirit in the flight of a bird, the roar of an airplane taking off, a woman running with her dog, the gentle waves in the Hillsborough River, the high laugh of young child, imaginative cloud formations in a blue sky, the purr of a peaceful cat, the memory of 16-year-old me roaming the streets of Vancouver on a bright, summer day, my long dark brown hair flowing down my thin back, so happy that school is out and there's nothing to do but be young and free.
I wish I had words of wisdom for me and anyone else feeling like they're a mountain climber in a nun's habit. But I don't. What will happen is I will wake up in the morning and go on with my ordinary life, the same clothes, the same commute, the same lunch, the same work and home tasks, but I will, like I do every day, look for beauty and spirit in the flight of a bird, the roar of an airplane taking off, a woman running with her dog, the gentle waves in the Hillsborough River, the high laugh of young child, imaginative cloud formations in a blue sky, the purr of a peaceful cat, the memory of 16-year-old me roaming the streets of Vancouver on a bright, summer day, my long dark brown hair flowing down my thin back, so happy that school is out and there's nothing to do but be young and free.
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