I’ve been returning to myself, lately. I recognized some time ago that I had gone very far away from who I once knew myself to be, and the lethargy, illness, and stress of being lost inside caused me to rattle the cage until I was out. I wouldn’t say “free”, because freedom is a state of mind, but close- close enough to call freedom an aim. I gave myself space to wander.
I recognize the cause of the cage as wanting to make everyone around me better. Sometimes that meant doing what they said I should do, which was often nothing like what I felt like doing inside. Good ideas can still be wrong when your heart doesn’t recognize the factors that make them “good”.
Other times helping the people in my life meant internalizing their discomfort of my ability to leave -to explore- and so I would stay, and stay, and stay.
In staying, I lost my way. It’s no one’s fault, and it happens, and not infrequently. It’s actually pretty common.
In my case, my insides turned on me. My compass cracked. The things I loved and once followed through my days like a wild thing tracks a scent lay in wait for me to pick up where I left them behind. They had nowhere else to go. When I returned, it was to those inclinations and that wildness. I am currently making amends.
I’m still searching for the colors that used to bring me nameless, aimless, frustrating excitement. I’m waiting to be thrilled by the way the light hits leaves, and bricks, and the faces of strangers along Second Avenue under that violently bright spring sun as I sip taro bubble tea and wait for something more lovely than all that to happen in its midst- under the masterful light, playing with shadows. But really I know nothing is the same.
Now I know that there is nothing lovelier than knowing to stop and watch the light hit leaves, brick, and faces, and wait, believing even more wonderful things could come out of shadows.