I had a guy tell me that I’m lost.
That I am just busy chasing the next best thing. That I’ll never settle. That I’ll never be satisfied with what I have.
Such assumptions cut deep. However, it created a wound I could afford to bear, as it helped me assess the relational dance I was performing with this person.
Unlike him, I didn’t have my family to support me. I had to build my life, build myself.
That is not being lost, my dear.
If going against societal, familial, and cultural norms to follow my truest desires means I am lost, I am certain I am lost in the right direction.
My life manifests as an unfolding journey, and not some stale imitation of how someone told me to live. Like an artist before a blank canvas, I am the one who fills in the white space with all the things I find beautiful, including that which breaks my heart.
I have witnessed beauty and pain and everything that falls in between. I have been humbled and have been found dancing in the cotton candy painted sky with others like me.
The warmth of the amazon has held me through a shaman’s hands and his spiritual medicine. My lungs have gasped for air as I summited the Andes that took my breath away. My heart has broken for all of the overexploited communities I have witnessed for political and economic gain.
The limitations of my mind and how I view the world were cracked wide open by the depth and serenity of the Swiss Alps. My faith was revitalized by the holy songs sung by refugee children who fled the civil war in Myanmar. I have laughed until I had a stomachache, with strangers who turned into family in the warm, salty Aruban waters. Our breath smelled like rum as we prepared to take our second yoga class for the day.
I’ve cradled my heart to soothe the deep pits of depression from seeing the harsh realities of exploited laborers around the world, having to sit with the unfair privilege I was born into. My spirit has sung the words of Trevor Hall, hand in hand with my sister, “laughing at this play of life.”
I’m choosing to play and laugh and sing and live in the reality that sings true to my heart, and not in a reality that someone else has laid out before me.
I have traveled the world. Moved. Meditated. Loved. Let go. Made a decision and changed my mind, over and over. Found new wild flowers to pick in the fields. Gotten lost, and hit the ground so hard that I was certain, for a moment, that I wouldn’t be able to pick myself back up.
But this is my journey, baby.
And I am growing and putting myself in the way of the world. I am letting her work her rough, yet tender hands through me, molding me into the woman I am meant to be. And I assure you. I assure me, I wont be scared to land when the timing tells me “here.” However, I won’t land just because I’ve run out of breath. Only when my hands meet my chest and belly, my breath becomes free, and my body buzzes with love, enthusiasm, a sense of safety, and boredom, and my heart remains calm, and the wind kisses my hair and face and whispers to me: “Welcome,” while I land, softly on the chest of our Mother Earth.
And I will continue to see my journey unfold, but with trust that this is my own path.
We all have the right to exist within our own world, and I ask that you don’t project your journey onto mine.