All Things New

How do you know if you've done the right thing?

What is the difference between being comfortable and being complacent? As I sit on the patio at this coffee shop, I find myself with more questions than answers. 

All my life I've worked towards a single goal, my biggest dream. After having achieved it, I found that there had been a lot I hadn't anticipated. I was no stranger to hard work. That was not an issue. But after 25 years of pursuing  the same things, I started to question if what I was doing was even healthy. 

I think the rudest awakening was when I realized that I no longer viewed myself as capable. Trapped in a world that I had created for myself, I started to lose my joy. My self. I looked in the mirror every morning and could only see things that I wanted to fix. Something that used to help me cope with my problems had become one of them. 

However, I am slowly coming to grips with my own control over my life. As a human being, I am able to make my own decisions. I am trapped no where and the only one making me feel that way is myself. 

I had a dream.

And while that dream and love is still there, the way that it looks is evolving. I don't know what I'm doing, or even where I'm going. But I think, honestly, that that's kind of beautiful. I can do anything. Be anyone. Start over or even just build in a different direction. 

You don't always knock your house down to improve it. Sometimes it just needs some renovations to make it livable. It gets messy and can often not even look like a house anymore. Yet when it is finished, it is stronger and more beautiful than before. 

You are no longer your seven year old self. Your wants and desires may be different. You are allowed to change your mind. Your life is YOURS and you deserve the choice of what to do with it. 

I pray that we never do anything just because it is comfortable and safe; being those things doesn't automatically make something healthy or edifying.

Don't be complacent because you don't think you deserve more. 

You are invaluable.

And you are capable of anything you put your mind to. 

  

Brave

Once upon a time there was a little girl. 

She was what one would typically define as "nerdy": bushy hair, buck teeth, and a mouth-breather with an early love of reading and video games. Said little girl had a lot of dreams. She wanted to be a writer; she wanted to be a doctor and a painter. She wanted to be a dancer. This little girl loved to laugh and play make believe. Sometimes it gained her friends.

And sometimes it didn't.

Let's be real, elementary and middle school are typically embarrassing experiences for us all. We're growing, going through puberty, getting crushes, and trying to figure out where we fit. I, like everyone else, wanted to fit everywhere, but in reality felt like I fit no where.

Sound familiar?

So, I did the most logical thing for a child to do in that situation.  

I changed.

It started with little things. I stopped talking about that new anime I loved. I wouldn't volunteer to answer questions in class; I stopped hoping to get invited to things. These small things eventually evolved into bigger issues. I changed the sound of my laugh after some boys compared it to a donkey. I stopped curling my hair, something that made me super happy, because I got made fun of in class. I stopped dancing on the playground because I knew people would talk about it, and probably call me a show-off.

And that was just grade school.

I came to the realization only a couple years ago that I was still that little girl, only in a grown-up body. I had no idea who I actually was because I was constantly worried about what other people were thinking. What if I said the wrong thing? Or did the wrong thing? Or worse yet, what if I just liked the wrong things?

Would I ever be cool enough?

And then, it hit me.

Nope, I certainly wouldn't.  And honestly, I was beyond sick of trying.

I like K-pop. And anime. If it rains outside you can catch me either reading in a fluffy armchair or literally sprinting home laughing to myself because I had decided to take a walk. I trip up stairs and down them. I say ow even when something doesn't hurt. I can probably kick your butt in video games and I LIKE LAUGHING MORE THAN ANYTHING. Get me started talking about dance and I could go for hours.

And you know what? I have more friends now than I ever did when I was trying to be something I wasn't. I'm loved because I'm really, truly and sometimes embarrassingly myself.

Perfection is frustrating. No one can achieve it. And if it looks like they have, you're probably not seeing the whole picture. 

So, here's my plea, my prayer for you.

Go to that movie by yourself.

Run like a maniac through the rain and take a nap in a park.

Stargaze.

Kick that guy's butt at Dance Dance Revolution. And then kick it again at Fortnite.

Sing your favorite song at the top of your lungs, even though you can't carry a tune to save your life.

Eat. The. Freaking. Burger.

Do you want to be 80 years old and have lived a life that wasn't yours? 

Open yourself up. Figure out what YOU like and what you don't. Say no. Say no again. Say yes at the top of your lungs and then follow through with it. Rethink your decisions, but never regret them. Make friends. Have the courage to leave friends that were never truly your friends. Let go, and fight to hold on.

I pray that you wake up tomorrow with the courage to be truly and unapologetically yourself. It is the bravest thing you will ever do.

Hummingbird Wings

Your heart has hummingbird wings.

They beat frantically against your ribcage as you breathe deep.  

In.  

Out.  

You close your eyes.  As the music starts, you inch your way to the wings, one careful step after another.  How many eights have gone by? How many left until you step into the light?

Dress rehearsal hadn’t gone well.  Marks were wrong, ankles were rolled, turns completed only halfway.  You had hoped to feel prepared by this point.  Instead, you feel a complete lack of control, a helplessness in your situation even years of rehearsal wouldn’t have fixed.  You can’t help but wonder if you’ll even remember the choreography once you get out there.  Panicking, you start to go over everything in your head, only to quickly realize that all hope is lost and you’re about to make a fool of yourself.

The countdown begins.

Five. You clasp your hands and send up a prayer.  Clearly you can’t do this on your own.

Six.  You shake your body loose.

Seven.  You tap each toe on the floor in a ritual you’ve done before every performance since you can remember

Eight.

You plunge.

At first, you’re disoriented.  The lights are far too bright, the audience far too dark.  The stark contrast makes your head spin and for a moment you forget what it is you’re supposed to be doing.  The music thrums and your body starts to respond.  Steps are tentative, unsure. 

But slowly you change.  The orchestra swells and you are calm.  You are strong.  You are untouchable.  The music is no longer playing behind you. It IS you.  The high notes flow into your fingertips, a sharp vibrato in your toes.  Notes are flowing from your body of their own volition and you sigh in contentment.  Had you been worried?  How silly.  Unfathomable love swells up within you.  You smile, laughing inside.

Then you see her.  She has a white bow in her hair and her smile could split the sky from the audience where she sits.  Something more than adoration has filled her countenance, something closer to worship.  You are everything she hopes to be.  And she was you. 

The ballet flies on and all too soon you’re taking your final curtain call.  You can hear your family in the audience as you bow with your friends.  Your heart is soaring.  You view the scene almost outside of yourself, drinking in every detail.  At that moment, you are invincible.

And there, in the front row, is the little girl with the white bow.  She is up on her feet now, giving a standing ovation with every fiber of her being.  The curtain starts to descend and you lock eyes with her.  Her eyes widen in ecstatic astonishment as you wink. 

Who knows, someday she could be you.

Impact

She trembles, uncomfortable in this skin, this body.

Their thoughts, real or imaginary, shoot through her like bullets, piercing her paper heart, fear tingling in her very fingertips.

Is she intruding? Can she even be here?

A lump in her throat, she steps forward, only to be pushed back again.

And again.

And again.

The voices get louder.

Quit. Stay down.

You can't.

Breath shaking in her chest, she hesitates. Maybe she couldn't. Maybe it would be easier to quit.

But what would the tears have been worth? What about the sleepless nights and aching muscles? The sweat? Would it all have been for nothing?

Her eyes refocus, gaze steely.

She'll show them, show them all.

Hesitation gone, she launches forward.

And.

Impact.

Beautiful

Today, I had a friend casually tell me that they adored my soul. 

And then suddenly I was crying awkwardly by myself in Starbucks. 

We live in a society where what you do and how you look is often seen as more important than who you are. In fact, thinking about it, what is typically the first thing you ask a new acquaintance?

"So, what do you do?"

You are what you do, what you supposedly contribute. I've witnessed this first hand. Since I can remember I've been introduced to people as "the dancer". As though, aside from my career, I had no identity. 

But where are you left if that "identity" is taken away from you? 

A couple months ago, I was forced to contemplate that question. Suddenly, I found myself unable to do the one thing I'd always been known by. I couldn't dance, I couldn't even walk comfortably. And let me tell you. I. Freaked. Out. 

Not only did no one else know who I was outside of being a dancer, but I hadn't the slightest clue either. 

If I couldn't dance, what was I? Was I useless now?

I sank into depression, trying to push my recovering body too hard. I restricted my diet, often going all day on a single cup of coffee. My anxiety kept me up at night and during the day I was always a second away from tears. Mentally and physically exhausted, I found that I had nothing else to give. 

It was then, finally, that I started to notice things about myself. 

I could make people laugh. I gave excellent hugs and was a good listener, friends often coming to me just to vent and be heard. I was capable of making people feel comfortable and a little less awkward. I had a proficiency for language and found peace in writing. I read books I'd somehow never found the time to read before. I found that I was brave, I was strong, and I was so so LOVED. 

You are not what you do. 

Even if you had no elaborate career to offer, no incredible talents to show, you would still be valuable. 

Because you are you. 

Look around you. See the colors in a sunset. Feel the wind kiss your skin. Listen to the trees as they rustle their leaves. In all of this crazy, awe-inspiring beauty, you were somehow included. Deemed worthy and needed. A necessity, something needed for the world to be complete. And that in itself is incredible. You, just existing. 

You are beautiful. 

I love you.  

Joy

You are yellow.

Bright and teasing, you are the early morning sun hitting dew soaked grass. You are the child's screech of delight as they run through the sprinkler. You are the overwhelming brightness of a beach at noon, illuminating everything. 

You are blue.

Able to still my heart and calm my fears, you are like a quietly moving stream. You are the cool breeze that rifles through my hair and kisses my cheek, reminding me that you are there. 

You are orange.

You are the sky with the setting sun, blurring everything in your warmth. You are the gentle glow of the campfire on an evening surrounded by loved ones. Familiar and comforting. 

You are red. 

Like the warm blood rushing through my veins, you sustain me. Your love whispers through the trees and smiles out at me from the flowers of the field. 

You are gray. 

You are a stronghold in times of trouble, mighty as a mountain. Your strength thunders from the storm clouds and echoes through the ravine. I look at all you have made and tremble. 

But still, you are yellow.

You are a baby's first laugh. You are the bubbles in my chest about to burst after a joke. You are the warmth of a loved ones hug, the tingle down my spine as I catch someone's eye. You are the stars in the sky twinkling gently over us as we gaze up at them.

You are Joy. 

Enough

How can you write about something that you've never felt? How, listening to a song, can you feel something that you've never experienced?

The strains of the music fill my consciousness and I'm left with tears in my eyes. I'm not gonna lie, I can actually understand very little of what I'm hearing, the language itself something I'm completely unfamiliar with. But still, the impact is made. 

Is that heartbreak in that sustained note? Something personally experienced or even just imagined? Or could it be wanting something you can never have? Want. . I think that as a human being, those feelings are universal. 

Love, in all its forms, is independent of language and country borders. Joy, sadness, and anger are free from gender and political stance. 

As I sit here listening to music I can't understand in words, I feel my heart sync up to what my brain can't follow. I wonder at the distance; the distance we as human beings try to put between each other.

We don't speak the same language; we worship differently; our ideas about love differ. But if I can hear someone's heart in a song from across the world, aren't we all the same? Don't we all, in the end, feel hurt? Feel joy? Feel love?

Shouldn't that be enough?