When I was younger…

Before the trials of time had struck the innocence and optimism from my eyes I had dreams that were bigger than life. They were full of love, joy and if I’m completely honest I always wanted to be a teacher. I guess some part of me romanticised the part of Miss Honey characters another part of me rejected completely the total cop-out that’d be to my wild self. I wanted to be a storm on the horizon as well as shelter from it. I have lived my entire life in that in between halfway between a nurturing and maternal figure to my friends (I’m known as a feeder, no one ever has any complaints about that though) and a warrior of Amazonian descent. Unfortunately no one ever told me how difficult it is to aptly juggle these two fiercely conflicting states of being. It’s a little like a game of tug of war that I play by myself desperately trying to encompass and embody the traits I admire but, where am I in this? Do I embody these traits because I desperately want to or because that’s who I am? Most days are a confused blur of emotions and I’ve gotta admit to you, dear reader that I am overwhelmed I feel empty and sad most of the time and I’m not even sure why. I have no reason to feel this way and yet, at this point it feels so valid, so raw and so real. Yet, still that part of me powered by self hatred and anger sits in my consciousness and cackles at my suffering telling me I deserve it but that I also have no right to feel this way or give myself any empathy. To others I am warmth and support yet to myself I am as cold and unyielding as time. My insecurities sit perched on my failures at the points where I feel lowest tearing at my confidence and taunting me. I wish I knew how to fix myself and flick a switch that meant I could turn off this part of me, shut out the cruel and cold ice queen that lives inside me and open myself up to the parts of me that embody light and warmth unfortunately in life there is balance and part of my journey is learning how to balance. I must tell you dear reader, I cannot wait for the day when the two parts of myself embrace each other as if they were old friends, when they live in harmony together using each others different strengths to push me towards the best version of myself. For now, I shall sit on the battlefield of my own mind weathering the constant reverberations of bombshells as they fall on my tattered and fraying consciousness. Here I hide like a child with my face in my hands waiting for the sirens to stop and for my mind to be a safe place once again.


So… What now?

I started this blog with the intention to write every single day, To pour my heart out to you, my anonymous audience. There was no need to fear your criticism nor your reaction to my writing I could simply share my stories and thoughts in any way I chose but, I do fear your criticism I fear the reaction of anyone reading the stories I want so desperately to release from the confines of my mind and yet, my words fall short. I wanted to tell you all my painful secrets and express to you exactly how they define me in different ways and make me a tapestry of temporary happiness. Even as I type this I seek comfort in music, Bob Dylan croons to me as I stare around an unfamiliar room and think of you. Yes, you. Who are you? What’s brought you to this page and what has engaged you to get this far? Are you waiting for me to disclose some horrible secret? Want me to unveil some trauma that suddenly makes your heart ache for me a complete stranger? Unfortunately, It’s gonna take me a little while to work up to that but, in the mean time.. I’d like to tell you a little bit about myself. I was aptly referred to as Conundrum by my pregnant mother as I occupied her figure. Little did she know I’d grow to encompass just that I would to any passing observer seem like a fairly sane and self-reliant person but on closer inspection the cracks in the paint are more apparent my anxieties andĀ self deprecating humour are apparent as a shield I wield in a constant battle to feel secure in my own skin. I’d love to say I’m winning the fight but in order to authentically do this my candour is a neccesity. I will tell you this dear reader, my constant self critisism feels like a cage but, the bars of this cage are visible only to me. Everyone that loves me can hear my pleas for help but they can see no hinderance to my success. Little do they know I am the property of a conciousness that constantly cripples me. Now, I wonder how many of you are still reading. How many of you have turned away from this in a desparate attempt to find something less self involved and how many of you feel the pang of recognition in my words? I wish I could reach out to every single one of you who feel how I do and tell you how beautiful you are. I don’t mean physically I mean internally. You my dear friend are made from stardust as far as I am concerned simply because you are still fighting where so many have fallen. Which is why I find myself in an unfamilliar living room confessing my inner most insecurities to you. Isn’t it ironic that my desparate attempt to connect and share comes from the part of myself I feel the greatest shame about? Maybe that’s strength.. Or just idiocy… Or both?

Now what?

I’ve been thinking a lot about what to write. In fact, Last night I was kept awake not only by the cacophony of the storm that had left me drenched and thoroughly relieved to find that yes, puddle jumping is still a worthy pursuit. I did however find myself at home after my unexpectedly soggy cycle ride home making breakfast at midnight and then later I was kept awake by various ideas and thoughts for this blog. It’s a completely new concept for me publicizing my thoughts and ideals. It feels very vulnerable but at the same time very safe. I spend so much time censoring my thoughts for my friends, family and even sometimes for myself. Using less exotic vocabulary so not to intimidate and holding back my opinions as usually they are met by scrutiny and mistrust mostly my own if I’m honest. I guess the difference here is that you cannot see my face. You cannot judge my appearance or my age you only have my words. Perhaps my anonymity graces me with a kind of strength, a forum free of any preconceptions. So, What words do I have for you today? What ideals and what knowledge can I pass? It feels very intimidating looking down at this keyboard. Even now I’m censoring myself deleting and rewriting endless sentences attempting to provide something worth reading. Isn’t it an inherently human trait to seek approval? From adolescence we are taught to crave achievement and accolades. Our success is based on rigorous tests that don’t come close to echoing the dances we perform in our minds. How can you test a plethora of different dancers with movement that only exhibits a particular style, ethnicity, gender and basic structure? Survival of the fittest has become twisted and distorted into a competition of wit, intellect, good fortune and attractive physical traits. Wealth and power in this world is only given to those deemed worthy when stood trial against those archetypes. Finding your place in a world that doesn’t deem you worthy of success is fairly impossible. You either stand upon a soap box and shout into the faceless abyss or you push the boundaries, From the confines of your allocated position by teaching your children that puddle jumping is still a worthy pursuit.

‘Into The Wild’

I’ve been missing Vancouver a lot recently. The smell mostly. Apparently it’s pretty smokey over there at the moment but I’ve been dreaming of mountains well, mountains and having babies(that was a strange one) I miss how clean the air feels. I remember being able to run up and down the beach barefoot. I wish I hadn’t been in such a rush to grow up. I wish I could speak to my younger self and tell her to forget the hair dye and allow the Midas touch of the sun to do it’s work. Sometimes I wonder if the child I used to be would be proud of who I am now. Would they look up to me? I think that’s a better judge than any could you stand face to face with your younger self and be proud of the life you’ve lead? I want to paint myself in a light that is strong and noble but I stumble so frequently I think that would be a lie. Does stumbling make you inherently weak? Do I loose my power in admitting that? I don’t think that bothers my childhood self. I think it’s more fixed on chasing the butterfly and finding out what’s at the top of the tree than the balance of power and isn’t that a more worthy pursuit?