It always amazes me when I feel drawn to something and it winds up breaking through a part of me I didn’t know was in need.
Listening to Elizabeth Gilbert on “The Good Life Project” podcast hit that spot for me. She usually does. In this episode, actually at the very end, she was asked what it means to live a good life. She explains we are already Love. We don’t have to live this big spectacular life or have this ever elusive ‘purpose’ for us to be worthy of being here. Just by being here, wherever we are individually, we are worthy. The world would not be as it is if we were not here. And to hear that on this day, when I needed it most but didn’t know it, her words brought tears to my eyes.
For as far back as I can remember, there was this underlying feeling that I was meant to do something meaningful with my life. I’m not entirely sure what or possibly who planted that seed. But most of my twenties were spent chasing something without ever having a grip on what it was exactly. There was this innate sense of ‘knowing’ that seemed to drag me every which way and was never quite within reach.
I thought I found it when I went into massage therapy school. This sense of it being ‘right’ washed over me. I thought I had finally figured it out. Until something started to feel unsettled inside me. There was this mental battering of ‘there’s more!’, if only I would believe in myself enough to try. But now I’m not so sure.
Maybe this is the best it gets. Maybe, despite having long believed myself to be something great and worthy of doing big things, I’m meant for a small life. Because truthfully I never felt I was something great and I never felt worthy of anything good. It always seemed as if I could have had the potential ‘if only…’
The cards always seemed to be stacked against me. Life always seemed to present another stumbling block just as soon as I began to pick up speed. None of it within my control. My imagination always too big for a girl with so little chance.
Recently I found myself lost in this TV show. It started giving me this false hope that there is always a fighting chance. There is always something more worth going after. The possibility of friendship and coexistence and passion and romance, it’s real. Until the lights go dim and the credits roll and I remember it’s all an illusion.
I miss that little bit of spark I used to have. I miss the excitement of dating and falling in love. The newness of it all. I miss the freedom in making my own decisions, getting up and going as I please. The potential. I’m not a risk taker, never was. But the limitless potential of a dream used to excite me. Now, my creativity in life and in expression has fallen flat.
And I think that is part of why this job is eating away at my spirit. It feels safe. It’s within the box. It’s fairly predictable and controlled. Each day is just enough the same. And that’s not the life I want to experience. It isn’t the way I want to move through this world and this one chance. I don’t want to live in black and white. That’s never been me.
That has never been me… until now.
I daydream about being a gypsy of sorts. Allowing life to flow through me. Welcoming what comes and releasing what’s ready to go. Living more whimsically. Finding a way and making it work. Never accepting finality. Worrying less and trusting more. Accepting who I am for all my nuances and idiosyncrasies instead of self diagnosing as flawed and worthless.
I don’t want to live a big life to the world. I want to live a bigger life than I’ve been lead to believe is possible for me.
I’m tired of always being practical and limited. Tired of being lost in suburban life and believing this is all there is. I miss creating. I miss dreaming in color. I miss being playful and letting go. I miss throwing out the rule book and living on my own terms.
Sometimes it does feel as though the barriers are self created. And sometimes it feels as though the walls may never come down. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to stop trying.