The Shape Of Things

A long time ago, I was a child. A girl child. Like most of us, I came out trusting and curious. Wanting to be loved and to love and to take in every glorious strange thing the world was made of. And, like most of us, over time those qualities got a little strained and eventually fractured. Sensitivity became sass, vulnerability got painted over with primer, base and top coats. Questions became things I kept to myself and only some of the opinions I had made it outside my head; the defiance I felt for the injustice I saw around me produced only small gestures that were easily and conveniently missed.

I wonder often about how this happened. Why I figured out my place so quickly and more so, why I accepted it. I don't blame my younger self because I know how great the forces of cultural and parental messaging are but I do grieve not realizing sooner that the path I was on was taking me farther and farther from the life I think I was meant to live. A lot of women I know feel this way. Like their bodies and minds were hijacked, stolen, and that the choices they were told they could make to determine their own lives were nothing but small condolence prizes for a fight already lost.

In my late 40's I started to see that I could no longer accept the way I had been living. That despite having a great career, lovely home and semi-functional family I was deeply unhappy. Unhappy in a way that no book, journal, tarot deck, beekeeping adventure, weaving class, hot yoga class, ceramic class, women's circle or attempt at gardening or producing a crusty golden loaf of sourdough could reach. It was bad.

Now let me get one thing straight here. My multidisciplinary attempts at finding something I had yet to name were good. They brought brief moments of satisfaction or creativity or belonging. But it never lasted. I understand now why. It's because I was following my interests but steadfastly remaining inside the structures that were confining me. Trying to swim upstream against a current of normalcy and expectation and tradition and language that someone else created. I was keeping to the only systems I knew and trying to insert a bit of me inside them wherever they could fit instead of breaking them and starting the hell over.

Until I couldn't anymore. It wasn't working. Things in the world around me just kept getting worse and the limited success I had with self soothing was never going to defeat the sadness and fury I increasingly felt participating in said systems that valued some lives over others and had an uncanny knack at dodging integrity, honesty, compassion, justice and accountability. The things I care about most.

I guess you could say I had arrived. It was my burn it all down (except the plants and animals) moment. My (gently and kindly stated with regards to other's boundaries) fuck around and find out time.

I was ready.

The entries you will read should you choose to stick with me here are about the times, people and ideas that have helped me get back on track. To salvage what I could from what the previous 50 years had done to and for me and to with intention, determination, and a hearty dose of risk that only terror, guilt and desperation can prompt, try to make something lovely.

Thank you for being here.