Our secrets are exposed as nervous laughs and sighs of hope.
Hope is the energy that fuels this story of how we got here, or maybe this story is really about how we have changed in the process of wanting more. If hope is the energy, then gratitude has been the structure from which we are able to draw breath on our own. I have finally accepted that this light, with its various hues of apricot, and if fortunate, shades of ripe grapefruit, warms by promising new beginnings.
This was a year of submitting, writing and then revising; asking for it because I wanted; and taking breaths so deep my lungs collapsed. There were days I woke up broken, days I did not know how to sustain our vulnerability, and many more days I woke to an acute feeling of being alive, a feeling deeper than bruised bone. I was witness to fog so grey it pulled the blues from the Bay.
These dances, this rhythmic gradation of give and take, have transformed old fault lines. Below are ten things I’ve learned during this cycle around the Sun:
- the best decisions are the ones that fade the quickest
- immolation through the act of pressing pen to paper is my valued haptic practice
- the knowledge I have embodied was shaped by intimate failures
- crosswalks can be runways with the right song in your ears
- bravery manifested has exponential rewards and consequential risks
- justice is a habit I can’t break
- inability to forgive yourself is a cardinal sin
- it is true that the world continues to revolve with or without you
- how we see matters
- I really enjoyed eating a blueberry muffin naked in front of you
This post is dedicated to nearly nine years of maintaining this space of inquiry and intentional deconstruction. I wrote to survive, to have a voice. Each sentence is an act of breath, a release of internalized tension and anxiety. This call and response has been my baptism by epiphany.