I seem to have number of revelations, while in the car, on my way to the office.
This morning was no exception- and this one was a big one. And when I can figure out how to put in words, I'll share it in a bit more depth.
Ultimately, it came down to the fact that I live in my head. And most of the time the life in my head isn't all that conducive to living in reality. In order to find a path, best-suited for a dreamer who must learn to live in reality, I come to see that I have over-compensated. It's a gross overshoot on my behalf.
A lot of creative folks have learned to balance things. Not me. My pendulum is heavily weighted on the side of mmmm...let's call it "trying too hard."
This means that while I do not have a natural knack for precision, academia, logical thought and paying bills on time, I have over-corrected that failed part of myself by over-exerting my attempts to accomplish things like getting through college- that took me eight years, give or take. Lots of folks, these days, would call me a perfectionist. And in some ways, I am honored. It just means they have little idea of who I am when the curtains are parted. I tired really hard to compensate for my lack of natural logic. It's paid off, sort of.
Mostly, I am saddened by my total lack of responsibility in fostering my 4-year-old means of spirit. I like to imagine that fairies exist. I like to imagine that the myths of mermaids exist for some substantial reason. I also abide by folklore and it's place in reality. Stories are told for a reason. I just find that I tend to error on the side of "what if," rather than "Oh mermaids. That's a cute story." Irish folktales tell stories about the romance that once existed between the Moon and the Sea. It's a widely accepted fact that the moon's pull on the tides effect the swell of the sea.
Just some old folktales, right? I'm just saying that my mind leans toward the stuff of legend.
But instead of gathering some bravery and harnessing my head, I've completely dismissed it and I am worse off for it.
I've shared most of this with my mom, whose faith in my silly head games, never ceases to amaze me.
So today, as a result of my sharing a pivotal understanding, she sent me the lyrics to a Sade song.
Quietly while you were asleep
The moon and I were talking I asked that she'd always keep you protected
She promised you her light
That you so gracefully carry
You bring your light and shine like morning
And then the wind pulls the clouds across the moon
Your light fills the darkest room
And I can see the miracle
That keeps us from falling
She promised all the sweetest gifts
That only the heaven's could bestow
You bring your light and shine like morning
And as you so gracefully give Her light as long as you live
I'll always remember this moment
She closed her message with proof that I am not the only one out there speaking to the moon. I am not the only one who believes in the good which comes to the man who sleeps in the lighted split of the moon.
A wicked imagination lives in me. Flames lick the confines of my attempts at fitting in to some normalcy. It's something for which I am grateful and ashamed. And now that I see the greater disservice I may have done, by casting it aside, it's my intent, with nearly every breath, to rectify that.
Thank you, Mama for believing that my "crazy" is the good kind.
Here's to bringin' it!
Here's to bringin' it!
