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Moving Into the Way

This is going to be about everything. As big as life, whatever it entails. Having no expectations, my only hope is to resonate somewhere. To be alive, an ethereal presence, somewhere in the flood. After a quarter of a century of being left out, under foot, and self-secluded, I am finally moving into the way.

MEET ME IN THE MIDDLE

I am, admittedly, uninteresting. Being the middle of three children teaches several valuable lessons that become the bones of your existence. All of those, frankly, are subcategories to one ominous heading: Stay Out Of The Way. Be anonymous. Go along to get along. Apparently, being sandwiched between two big personalities meant not having one of my own.

At the age of eighteen I could have been anyone, and was altogether no one. I had the capacity to survive without much help and parents that were grateful for it. It wasn’t that I did not know what to do with my life, for no one knows that… I did not know how to be a person, an entity, a collection of thoughts to which one adds and subtracts throughout life. I could always feel bits of me seeping, bleeding, blending with those around me.

I could always feel bits of me seeping, bleeding, blending with those around me.

AND MY BODY, IT LEAKS LIKE A SIEVE

I spent so much time blindly raking it back to random centers of my worthless choosing. I have been a party girl. A workaholic. A journalism major. An English literature major. I’ve been the token funny girl and the sarcastic bitch. I still exude an iciness that exclaims silently: Leave me be.

It would be easy to say that all of this was me. That I am this hybrid wonder that can encompass so many traits and life-themes. But that would be yet another misrepresentation. What I was really doing was seeking temporary containers to hold my liquid self. I would pour myself into niche after niche, only staying long enough to loathe the container that kept me.

I would pour myself into niche after niche, only staying long enough to loathe the container that kept me.

I wish I could conclude graciously that I found a way out of the dirty, half-empty glasses. But, alas, I still find myself occupying spaces that are not my own. I have, however, found bearings as a result of a few keen choices in recent years. I may not yet know who I am, but I know who I am not. I know now not to do that which satisfies only for the briefest moment. The most ardent trial is defending myself when there is no fence around the fortress, no title above the gates. But while I may be without sufficient definition, I do possess a late-found, innate direction.

TALK STORY

This direction cannot come from any container. It cannot be named in even the most coveted monikers. It comes in the realization that there can be direction without definition. There can be a purpose to the journey, even if there is no destination. That is my bearing, for now. It is that which I hold most dear. It is the tide in that which seeps through the sieve. As I move forward, the commonalities within me swirl in ribbons, and I begin to see that there is a fluid movement in me. Those smart choices I have come upon and made, they were a result of the current.

The more I realize, the more I know I have stolen from myself by remaining unseen. I want to make each day about having a voice, becoming a presence, and creating change. As a writer, I find my own experiences are the compost that nourish my fictional endeavors. Being brave, using my own two hands and only voice are essential tools in becoming.

Thank you so much for reading. I look forward to interacting with each and every one of you. xoxo

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