Back in Stride Again….
Writing by Jes on Sunday, 27 of December , 2009 at 5:05 pm
2010 when my life will begin…
As I play Temptation’s miraculous Christmas album song and pump a little two-step in with the soundtrack, I am hit with a realization of how fake my happiness is this season. I feel like I am like Smokey’s clown and truly hiding the tracks of my tears. Alas! Why, you might ask? Fore, I have been hit with all the lights, carols holiday greeting. I have been clamored with the Tiny Tim stories, and miracles on 31st street, I am only lying to myself by believing that this was a season to be jolly.
I haven’t had this year…and it seemed to boil down towards the twelfth month when it all comes to a halting truth, when the things I thought I invested in didn’t show any payoffs. When my prayers didn’t result in the blessings I thought I should be bestowed, and it seemed that everything I planed I failed and doubts of my being and purpose on this earth resurfaced as if I was a 12 year-old starting a new school with a fresh face of acne. I kissed a boy and he made me cry, I believe in a teacher who has kept me in time out, I walk with a dunce hat on my head…
And instead of my going on and on about what hasn’t happened it is now when I realize the power of time, I can live those moment on in my heart through groans and agonies or can use the hands on the clock to focus on a chance to die away. I am right to let my self perish in the pains that I felt this past year because that person is so worn and tattered I don’t know if she can make it through another battle. Putting it this way, we love Rocky…we loved that he was down on the ropes and he made this comeback and put it all out there and with all his strength and power he mustered a victory and the world rejoiced to him, but I simply wonder how he felt when he was nursing those wounds back to health. Though he was the victor, the pain that came with the win makes me know I am punk enough that I wouldn’t endure the fight in the first place. Oh hell naw…I am not swinging anymore.
I have my wounds. I am down. And I’m not getting up.
Not here, I realize that not all battles are made to be won, some are simply there for the journey and this is a battle where I have let the worlds of my presence determine my life. I have been shown what my life should be and have let media, family, friends, lovers, and even spectators determine my definition. Of who I am and what success should look like. I have watch a year of recessions and setbacks, news and blues explain all the things I should have and I have felt lower than dirt when I realize I don’t measure up. And then in my rat race of running, I am now in an unfamiliar field and the truth is I don’t like where I am. I am constantly tired of being the good girl and making the best of my surroundings. So like a dead forest, I am burning down what is in the way in order to allow freshness to grow.
Broken down, I am a football star playing baseball, I am queen chess marker playing checkers, and I am that yellow little triangle in a preschooler’s hand being stuffed into a square opening. I am where I don’t fit and as long I am in the wrong place I will never be the star I am supposed to be, not because I am not worthy but because I am playing the wrong game and now I realize that if I change my strategy I can change my anguish and the tears that hide behind the mask. I’m not a failure, I am just in the wrong place in many aspects of my life and I am trying to become a star where my skills and natural abilities are not being used in the right positions.
It’s not about me changing who I am. About me lowering my standards, or relaxing in my expectations. I have checked myself more times then Tyra changes hair tracks, I’m okay…never perfect but here and okay. It’s about me taking who I am and putting it in a productive place.
So I should dust myself off? Right, get up, check myself and start anew? Why must I die? Because in this life if I continue to go on like this, I have lost the innocence and exuberance of my youth. I am cynical, bitter, tired, and defiant. I long for that girl in high school who had dreams, character, and spunk. That girl has grown into a woman who is defined by expectations when she thought she would grow in a lady who would defy expectations. And I need her back, in her core, untarnished to guide my vision of where I should be.
So I shall be born again, this day when Christ was laid in a manger, I lay in my stable to let God watch over me and I look to reunite with his vision he had for his child. A vision that a child didn’t question in fact grew in her spiritual umbilical cord. I will be ignorant enough to say at this time there is no plan, there is only peace while I get feed and reenergize because I will emerge like a child, only with the wisdom to run without boundaries, to leap to touch the sky, to climb trees and not let gravity plant me and love with an open heart and walk away from those who don’t want to play with me.
I refuse to be bound by others because I have given them the twine to tie me up with. I refuse to lay playing possum when my heart is full of fire. I refuse to be reduced when I am the exponential factor in any equation.
So it’s not a question it is a quest. Opportunities to not look back at time lost, but look forward to time regained. To not allow manmade obstacles stand in the way of my divine destination. One that has been unscripted and uncharted and really indefinable…until I live it.
Follow me, but this time…..I won’t be waiting for you.
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