{ sunday considerations }

(first of all: am i the only one who uses her expensive genuine leather clutches to transport miscellaneous items throughout the house when multiple trips simply won't do? because it's the most practical use i've found for those oh-so-stylish-and-fantastic-in-theory, but not-so-user-friendly-when-it-comes-right-down-to-it, handbags.)

secondly, this is my anthem right now. (if the video makes you think the song is cheesy and stupid, don't watch it. it wasn't what i was expecting, but it still made me cry.):

so come out.
you have been waiting long enough.

you’re done with all the talk talk talk

with nothing on the table.

it’s time to come on out.

there will be no sign from above.

you’ll only hear the knock knock knock

of your own heart as signal.

if you are afraid, come out.

if you are awake, come out.

come out and level up.

this afternoon i made a pot of coffee. it was late enough that i wondered if i should, but in the end i realised i am now one of those people who drinks coffee because it seems like i should; because it is a comfort. because it is the thing i want to do, and there is no reason not to. i smiled to myself as i recognised that i was not always this way; i have changed.

sometimes becoming aware of even these insignificant changes is encouraging: i am moving forward into something new, into something i was not before, all the time. in fact, many of the changes i wish for are already happening to me by infinitesimally gradual increments. they will be imperceptible until enough time has passed; until they've accumulated enough mass for my continuously self-evaluating awareness to trip over them. it's gratifying and profound enough to realise i have changed without realising it, that i'm willing to wait.

begin again.

dynamite the dam on the flow.

your body feels the tock tock tock

of time as it hammers.

lord we are all cinders

from a fire burning long ago,

but here it is the knock knock knock

of your own heart that matters.

if you are afraid, come forth.

if you are alone, come forth now.

everybody here has loved and lost,

so level up and love again.

i poured myself a cup and headed upstairs. i'd reluctantly committed to clean the top of my dresser today: an intimidating task due to the amount of jewelry, makeup, fragrance, and other randomly assorted items littering its surface (which in and of themselves are endlessly delightful, but in endless congregated number are terrifying and overwhelming).

as the coffee did its good prodding work on my waning motivation, i pulled my hair back, pushed up my sleeves, and stood in front of the damned rectangular receptacle of doom. i took a deep breath.

call it any name you need.

call it your 2.0, your rebirth, whatever –

so long as you can feel it all,

so long as all your doors are flung wide.

call it your day number one

in the rest of forever.

if you are afraid, give more.

if you are alive, give more now.

everybody here has seams and scars.

so what. level up.

the thing about a job like this is that it always takes three times as long as it should. also, it's emotional. you're ashamed of the things you've kept way longer than any normal human would. you feel disgust for having tolerated the mess, clutter, and lack of sufficient surface area when more reasonably-spaced purges would've left you with less stress and more order. and then there are the feelings that wash over you when you handle certain objects. i'll admit that i'm a bit of a hoarder. i don't form attachments easily, but when i do, the symbolism and sentiment are so deeply rooted in my being that all i have to do is brush up against them and i'm overcome with memories and significance. (this is one of the things about my personality i feel is almost always misunderstood: i can seem very distant and aloof, and like many INTJs i don't see the sense in many social rituals, so i often appear rude. i know my lack of physical affection and infrequent communication come off very detached to many of the people in my life. but there is a massive force of emotion in me. it's so gripping, in fact, that i don't always like to acknowledge it --- both because i'm afraid it will frighten people, and because it frightens me.)

i did pretty well until i uncovered an old shoebox full of much older objects. as soon as i opened it, i felt a door scraping open across the floor of a forgotten room in my soul. there were a dozen old jewelry boxes inside --- the kind that come with real jewelry, with hinged lids and embossed satin lettering inside. these were gifts i'd been given as a young girl: my grandma's fire opal ring, so dainty it only barely fit my pinkie finger; intricate flower earrings from my great-uncle, nestled firmly in a grosgrain green box with gold trim; a thin sterling bangle i wore for months on end in junior high. 

i rushed through the boxes, yanking them open and throwing them back roughly. i could feel the nostalgia rising, and soon it would be uncontrollable. i was about to slam the drawer shut and call the job finished, but a plain white cardboard box caught my eye. i shook it and something rattled delicately inside. 

i lifted the lid, saw what was inside, and closed it immediately.

i squeezed my eyes shut. i shook my head. i opened it again.

a pair of earrings rested on tissue paper, attached to their original card which boasted a tiny tag that read $8 in neat handwriting. deep blue, green, and turquoise beads cascaded like tiny waterfalls from simple hooks. i was immediately transported to the store where they were bought, a quiet beautiful shop on maui. i could remember the lighting in the store. i could remember how my hair was tangled and my skin was still warm from a day spent in the sun. i could remember seeing these earrings on display the first time, but eight dollars were precious earnings for me then, and i took the week to think about it. by our last night on the island, i was still thinking about them, so i went back. i remember packing them carefully in this very box for the long flight home. 

i put the hooks through my ears, stood in front of the mirror of my now-pristine dresser, and i cried.

i was that girl again --- younger, thinner, with a fresher face. the girl who believed she'd be married by 22. the girl whose heart hadn't been broken yet. the girl who didn't know herself --- not the complicated parts and not the incredible parts, either. the girl whose relationship with her mother hadn't yet become a minefield. the girl to whom eight dollars was a sum not easily paid. it was me, but without all the knowledge, the disillusionment, the fear of growing old and of beginning again.

i saw her standing there looking back at me: beautiful and whole, full of hope and unmarked by all i have been through, sea glass falling from her ears.

and i saw her seeing me, i saw her looking at the me of now: bruised and shattered, tentatively living and criss-crossed with disappointments, wearing the hard-won jewels of a much younger soul.

i don't know that i've seen myself seeing myself in a long time.

i squeezed my eyes shut and hung my head and i cried.

let your faith die.

bring your wonder.

yes, you are only one.

no, it is not enough

but if you lift your eyes,

i am your brother.

and this is all we need.

and this is where we start.

this is the day we greet.

this is the day, no other.

i pulled the hooks gently from my ears and wiped away tears with the insides of my wrists. the little girl disappeared as i placed the earrings reverently back in their plain white box, but the look in her wide eyes as she beheld her future self lingered in the mirror. what exactly had i seen in her eyes, after all? surprise? terror? or a pure resigned knowing, full of wisdom and compassion? 

---------------------

i've just come downstairs and written all of this, so now you know as much as i do. my eyes still sting with tears --- tears shed, and tears asking to be shed. it's 8:54pm and i haven't thought of dinner. my fingers hover over the keys, waiting for a thoughtful, resolved conclusion to this entry whose purpose eludes me. usually when i sit down to write, something strikes me by this time, but tonight all the threads have come to frayed ends.

i am afraid (give more).

i am alive (give more now).

i am only one (it is not enough).

so what.

come on out (hear the knock of your heart).

this is where we start (come forth).

lift your eyes (this is the day, no other).