November 3, 2020

On the Day I Finally Realize I am Enough (I will do This).


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On the day I finally realize I am enough, I will awake with a smile.

I imagine the day to begin as mornings start in the movies. A resplendent sun will peak through my bedroom window in piercing beams. Birds will chirp, and I will awaken with no heaviness in my eyes.

My day will not end with sobs on my kitchen floor as my black, rusty tea kettle whistles in sympathetic pain.

My day will not end with a glass of red Malbec, online shopping, and lavender Epsom salt baths to numb or dress up the edges of myself that ache.

It will be a bright, wonderful day—the day I wake up and I am finally enough.

I will meditate slowly, light candles on my alter, and sip warm lemon water. I will not feel rushed to get the day done; I have nothing to prove, for you see, this is the day I am finally enough.

I will scrape my tongue and brush my teeth, per my morning routine, but on this day, I will paint my lips with my vegan, pale-pink lipstick. Today, I will not worry if people think I’m dim or prissy or girly, because in my heart I will be whole; I will worry not. I will wear bright colors today, with my matching scrunchies, because although I was mocked for wearing them before, those words don’t spin inside my head anymore.

For you see, this is the day, the day I realize I am enough.

My older sister will call this day. We haven’t talked since my grandmother’s funeral. She will say, she is sorry for all those years we weren’t close. That it was endearing and cute when we had the same favorite colors of green, blue, and yellow. That it made her love me even more that I chose my favorite animal to be a frog, like hers. She will say the 10-year age gap was nothing, she always saw me as an equal—that she noticed all those times I pleaded for love or acceptance. That my trying to be cool wasn’t lost on her. She will say, oh, no one thinks you are stupid or ugly, stop those words that repeat daily in your mind. And just like that, those words will vanish from my brain, and I will no longer think them about myself. We will laugh. And I will feel whole, this beautiful day.

This day I will spend less time in front of the bathroom mirror playing with the fat rolls on my stomach or glaring at the zits on my back. I won’t frown at the deepening crevices on my forehead, and my teeth won’t look so crooked and yellow. I won’t be bothered by the cowlick on the back of my head, and my thin and frizzy hair will delight me instead. Today, I will see beauty, and I will laugh at the cute crow’s-feet in the corners of my eyes. I will delight in that one gray hair that sticks out of my head like wire.

Today I will be the one to initiate sex, because, I mean, who wouldn’t be attracted to me? I am enough. I will confidently grab his hair like I used to and pull him in for a deep kiss. I will wrap my legs around his back, sit on his lap, and not worry about my stomach rolls or being too heavy. I will be wonderfully delicious and enough. Oh, what a day.

My friend Elena will text me: coffee date? And we will sit by the river next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, for warmth. We will laugh at the ducks that haven’t migrated yet, as they course through frigid waters. I will laugh because I used to be like them, sitting in the cold, miserable, not realizing I had the freedom to fly to warmth. We will drink our flat whites with coconut milk out of our ceramic to-go cups. I will tell her about a sentence I read in a new book, and we will let our thoughts ponder it like wafting clouds. We will enjoy the silence together. What’s to fill? We are enough. I don’t feel the need to paint myself a certain way or list endless accomplishments and dreams to get her to like me. She will hand me a book she thinks I will enjoy; it will be yellowing at the edges, the last few pages just about to fall from the delicate binding. She will laugh kindly at my face. We will leave quickly, because she will know that I treasure our friendship but can only spend so long in company.

This day that I am finally enough, I will no longer hold in my laughter. I will laugh louder at the humor I find everywhere: the smug faces of passersby, the personality of a dog, the weird decorations in the corner of a store, when someone drops something at the restaurant. I will no longer fear being seen as immature; when did seriousness become preferred?

I will walk with my shoulders back, chest held high. I will roll my eyes when people tell me to smile. I will say what I think. I will no longer suck in my stomach when I walk down the sidewalk. I will no longer turn in my duckfoot on my right leg, it will make my knee feel so much better. Those that mock my walk will not bother me.

Because you see, this day, I will be enough.

I will be fearless with words as I type them on my bubblegum-pink typewriter. I will thread them together like a woven tapestry, marveling at the parts that intertwine with beauty and the jagged edges where they clash. I will not be hurt by my lack of masterpiece; I know it will come eventually. I enjoy weaving my words regardless. Because you see, dear reader, I am enough—what is there to prove?

I will teach yoga the way I truly desire: slowly, with more pause. Long meditation. I will not let the fear of people enjoying my class get in the way of offering what I know is helpful (but not always enjoyable). I will offer what is true and what will change people, not what I know to be popular.

I will drink my wine slower. Because I love the taste, the bitter sting on my tongue, the warmth it invites from my cheeks. I will not need it to make me believe I am worthy, because you see, I will already be so.

I will drive solo across west Colorado, and find a cabin to write and drink tea and meditate in. I will not be afraid of being judged as a loner. I will be confident in my own company.

I will dance more. Sing more. Just as I do in the car or the shower. I will not worry that I am out of tune or don’t sound like Mariah Carey, because it is my own voice, be damned, and it is enough.

I will stay confident and laugh at my failures: when I make a spelling error or my workshop doesn’t sell out. Because, you see, they are a way for me to learn, not rulers that measure my worth.

This day, I will finally go to that dance class across town. Hip-hop. I’ve always wanted to go. I was afraid to go alone, but today, I am enough. And I will make a new friend in that class. And we will sit staring at the mountains after, and she will say, “How fun was that? To play?” We will laugh, and not learn each other’s job titles or ambitions but learn about the other’s quirks and personalities. I will learn that she snorts when she laughs, and she will wink when I do the same.

As I daydream I wonder, is this day soon to arrive? The day I take a deep breath and truly step into that place where I say: “I am enough, exactly like this.”

Oh, what a day it will be.


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