One might think that one would have “found themselves” by the time they reached their 50s. But maybe it’s true that we spend our entire lives finding bits and pieces of ourselves as though we blasted apart upon entering the earth’s atmosphere when we landed here for this lifetime. That’s a lot of pieces to gather, and depending upon how far they’re scattered, it may take a lifetime to put the puzzle together.
We often think we know who we are until we finally realize that we have no clue.
The clue that we are beginning to find ourselves, I believe, is joy. When we begin to experience joy more of the time than not, we’re on the right path.
Joy is that thing that allows our shoulders to move away from our ears. It lets us take a deep breath and really exhale rather than holding it. It’s an inward smile in those quiet moments. It’s a knowing that all is well, even in the midst of a storm.
Life appears to be in that storm now. On a global level. On the level of politics, the environment, with social issues and religion. It all looks like kind of a shit show.
And it’s exactly what is called for right now.
All of this shit is getting stirred because it got stuck and concretized in incredibly damaging ways. The concrete looks firm and stable and strong. But the concrete is made of the old paradigms that simply don’t work anymore. (Not that they really worked before.) It’s all being jackhammered apart now because we’re finally waking up enough to recognize that you can’t just pour cement in a poisonous slough and think that it’s not going to soak through and infect all of us.
This is what is happening on a macro and a micro level. At least for me. I’ve tried to function for decades with some pretty poisonous patterns and beliefs about what was wrong and right. And, I’d not forgiven myself for my (perceived) continued state of fuck-up-ed-ness. Things would seem to get better. And then they’d seem to get worse.
Sometimes we put all of the pieces together incorrectly because we’re told how to do it by the people who have been pouring the concrete in the slough. They want to maintain things as they are. Don’t rock the boat. Don’t mess with the status quo. They’re fat and happy in their own personal disfFUNction, thank you very much!
But some of us, often the ones who never quite fit in the first place, are asking WTF? We’re hash-tagging #timesup and #metoo. We’re breaking down walls, not building them.
And we’re putting ourselves back together in ways that really fit. We’re not willing to shave off a little corner just ‘cuz it would make it work and we’re in a hurry.
We’re going for that long game. The one where we’re not afraid to face the Queen of Death because we know she’s only going to take away that which no longer serves.
We’re standing tall, maybe for the first time, because we know that what we’re building has a truly solid foundation, one that is rooted in rich, healthy, fecund soil. One that is based in love. Real love. Not the conditional kind. Love that never left. Love that will never leave.
All of this perfectly imperfect mess is truly perfect, because we cannot make a mistake. We cannot fail. Ever.
Except, when we fail to love.
It is this failure to love that is causing all of the pain, regret, rage and betrayal. It is because every one of the individuals involved above (including me!) failed to love themselves. Probably because they were told by the concrete/slough pourers that they were not lovable. Probably because those concrete/slough pourers were never taught that they were lovable.
And on it goes. Until we stop it. Until we stare it down and say, “enough!”.