I have a story to tell: it has a lot of moving parts and lines that don’t quite connect. It’s chaos. But I guess most of the good ones probably are.
The words at the beginning are always difficult to find because they’re important. They set the stage, they give you a piece of me, they connect us. I’ve been a tenacious reader since the time I learned to sound words out with whimsical songs of phonic friends at age four. It took me the next 21 years to realize that there is a reason for that. There is always a reason.
I am an anxious human being, born of my active brain, my torturing desire to not upset anyone ever, and probably some chemical misfiring up there. As an attempt to settle my busy head, I’ve started practicing meditation recently. Some days, I feel like a firefly trapped in a little jar, bonking off the walls like I have no eyes and no concept of spatial awareness. But other days, my firefly brain is quiet enough to hear the things that are there all along that are difficult to take note of when my head is full of So.Many.Words.
What I usually find when I get to that place is that I am right where I need to be. Understanding how and why any of the above are true is probably not mine to understand, which makes me a tad bonkers, but that’s neither here nor there. None of it is an accident. My brain is a scientist, that firefly trapped in a jar, pinging electrically from wall to wall of its suffocating container in my cranium. The rest of me is ancient, obsessed with understanding the human experience far beyond the realm of what my vocabulary permits me to articulate.
I believe in eating a big breakfast, telling the truth, sleeping and rising with the sun just like a toddler, following your inner wisdom, always saying yes to coffee, choosing love, practicing laughter and wholeheartedness, being barefoot as often as possible, making mistakes, and living with intention. I also believe that sometimes, things are shitty and the best you can do is the best you can do. And sometimes you don’t even do that, because life is hard and we’re human beings who mess up. I personally mess up all the time. I sometimes choose fear over courage, silence over openness, and shutting down over showing up.
I’ve always secretly wondered about how much simpler it would be to live as a person who doesn’t overthink, someone who can sleep at night without categorizing and sorting through every last detail to give them clarity or someone who lives without taking notes in order to understand more later. It seems nice, but it’s simply not the way I was hardwired. As with everything else these days, I’m learning to accept that there’s a reason for all of it that I can’t see or know. I’m learning to trust that there’s a reason I was born an old soul with too many questions, with my shirt tucked in and my head in a book.
In short, I plan for this to become a forum for storytelling. The big ones, the painful ones, the ones that change me, the ridiculously hilarious “you must have seen that in a movie” ones, and the simple ones that make me so excited to be alive. I hope that this space is a reflection of my deepest understanding of my story thus far: a bit of chaos and a bit of magic.