Friday, September 16, 2011

Old/new, tried/true


Right now a man is lying beside me and it's comforting to hear him breathing deeply and to know there are wonderful, fun moments and crunchy, unsure bits. that that's part of living. Twenty years ago, very close to this actual time, I was eye-ing a particular guy and wondering what it would be like if he were lying beside me. He was giving me all kinds of signs for me to find out, yet I was too awkward, unsure—in that moment at least—to actually take him up on it, afraid of what to do with the brittle not-perfect bits. Thinking I could ward them off by taking more time to make it all perfect, then act. not realizing how overrated perfection is.

A few hours ago, I was sitting in a room with a group of amazing women--some of whom I know and some i don't--listening to an enigma of a lady talk about what a difference we girls can make in this world just by being our messy selves, and i am in full agreement. When I started taking S classes my self did change and so went the world around me. I brought and wrought that change and I'm glad she started something for me to find. But I have no illusions that she or I or what she started is perfect, cuz truth*be*told, that would be boring. it's quite wonderful that it introduced me to myself in a very powerful way, and now I can take that into the rest of the world to investigate what else moves and shakes to my liking.

Twenty years ago, minus a few hours, I was standing in a club listening to an enigma of a band made up of boys that would make a difference to a lot of people in the world, including me. But the difference was, I was watching, not doing. It was a boys boys boys world, and i loved it, but I worked hard to make myself fit into it, which of course was impossible. But damn if i didn't love trying and wouldn't have traded it for anything. The impact was profound and lingers to this day.

I went back to visit that world, and even wrote an article about it and it felt so good to do that because I felt i had nothing to lose. Don't get me wrong, the actual deadline and writing of the piece was all the sweet torture I remember from magazine editors and 2AM mornings of finding the right ending because it's due...in 5 hours. gulp. rinse and repeat. but i had nothing to lose as far as my self was concerned. i felt like a stronger writer because my life didn't depend on it. and, oh back in the day, my life truly felt like it rose and fell with every word. none could be wrong. now i know the beauty of wrong, and raw, and stumbles, and flow. Of falling and getting back up. of sometimes hooking your leg and finding yourself aloft and sometime just not quite getting there and landing back on the floor. of memories and of now. Of listening to my good friend and teacher describe an arch of my back and leg on a pole, my head hovering above the floor and I do it. and i'm safe, and it hurts, but oh so wonderfully because i'm strong and brave enough to try. and I feel good knowing that i can handle it, i can fall, too. i like hearing him breathe raggedy beside me because it's not perfect, it's just living.

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