sometimes good-bye’s the only way
Raise the arms high, hold the head to kiss the sky, let it come down and embrace you, wash you clean; goddamn, I need some forgiveness right now.
I’m not going to explain the details, it’s enough that I’m angry and I’m letting it go.
call to action – redefined
Change is such a loaded word. It is our anthem when we find ourselves dissatisfied with the world at large (or even a piece of it) and yet equally so, we repel and sniff with disdain whenever the word is turned back on us. When we stand together and cry out for it, we’re envisioning a shift in the environment that aligns itself more with our particular perspective on “how things ought to be”. It is almost entirely self serving. And yet a powerful concept. Want to sway people to your cause – tell them you will change things and you’ll see the spark of hope spring forth in their eyes (while the cynics’ eyes will only narrow in doubt, but only because they themselves have believed in it before). We long for difference, never content with the status quo and yet equally fearful of it. Better the devil you know than the one you don’t.
Why? Because intuititively we feel helpless…. unable to enact any measurable change as individuals and powerless to create an impact on our environment. As a group, however, there’s a chance. The number of people in agreement is directly proportional to the potential for success – or so we believe. Our various systems would have us think so – from the popularity contests on social media platforms (how many followers/fans) to the United States democratic voting system, even down to the number of members a church has – one billion people can’t be wrong, can they? How difficult it is to stand in the face of such numbers and think an individual could sway the masses. No, only the masses must make any kind of “real” change. So quick, find yourself a group you can agree with! Or…
Think for a moment how great it feels when you want something and the world gives it to you. Makes you feel lucky, doesn’t it? Now hold that thought.
When we invoke change on a personal level, we often think about it in terms of environmental or physical change. Switch jobs, cut my hair, move to a different city. Things that are distinct, noticeable or create a ripple in how we move throughout our lives, things easily recognized by others to be a shift. Whether by choice or necessity, we seek the silver lining of change – it will all work out for the best in the end. But even if change is driven by a sense of vision or purpose, there is still a sense of disruption, a resultant period of readjustment within that individual’s sphere of influence. When will you come visit, I liked your longer hair better, etc, etc. Questioning, reassessing, was this good or bad, what does it all mean, nothing more than attempting to establish the significance of it – essentially “what does this (blank) mean to me“.
What about a different kind of change?.. You know, the really hard one. The one that isn’t always visible, is not founded on the safety net of a group agreement, and rarely ever gets discussed in the daylight. It’s called “Change of Perspective”. It could be a simple act of acquiring new information and redetermining one’s position, or it could be a life changing event that draws a line in the sand and evokes a permanent inability to cross it. These moments are rarely based on self determination, more the unanticipated consequence of a previous action. Reading a book, having a conversation, making a choice. Boom. It hits you. And suddenly you have changed. Without announcement, proclamation, or aplomb.
I’ve always been a proponent for conscious evolution, but other than sounding niffy, how does one go about it? How about being willing to unlearn what you’ve always thought to be true? Perhaps, seeking out a change of perspective… a step away from what “they say”. Yes, please.
it’s a process, not a decision
Disentangling one’s self from the various threads that create the tapestry of life is not an easy thing. Go too quickly and severe one you’ll miss. Go too slowly, and never get a shot at finding a new pattern or new array of colors. It is equally as important to bind and weave in a new direction as it is to cut and burn off unwanted weight. It is the start of the shift that can be difficult – time consuming, progresses feels slow and it seems that any consideration of change is still days or weeks or months away.
Patience has never been my strongest personality trait.
I am much more likely to tear away before it is really wise, leaving gapes and barren holes, while I forge ahead down a new path. My past is riddled with stories of me uprooting, changing jobs, schools, locations, friendships, you name it, I’ve left it. However, recognizing this about myself, I am causatively pausing – rethinking the process of enacting change. Focusing on small moves, while attempting to review and consider the lessons and value the memories. Making very certain exactly what it is I am releasing to the ether.
I certainly don’t attribute my new found methodology to being thirty – though I say that with some great amusement. Rather that there is often a difference between the reality one wants and what one deals with. Marriage, mortgages, jobs, relationships, hobbies – all the things that make life worth living, are also the things that make change (any real serious chaotic change) difficult to do well or easily. We live for the entangements – for getting wrapped up in each other and influenced by other decisions and intentions. It is how we help define ourselves and our place in the world. Those points of connection are at once what support us and tie us down.
Sometimes I think change isn’t exactly encouraged by this system; self growth perhaps, and anything that doesn’t disrupt the lines of communication or activity – it also helps me understand why movement in groups is often so powerful and more respected than that of a single individual speaking their mind. It must be done slowly to make any real difference…. one small move at a time.
and it isn’t pretty
Shush now. It’s not supposed to make sense. If you’re baffled by the leadership you’re presented with, that’s normal. They know what you don’t, they see what you can’t, you just have to trust they know what’s best. It is you who are blinded… who cannot adjust, or think outside the parameters of your reality. When what you see would drive you to despair, remember – you cannot see it all. And if your instincts are screaming and you raise your voice to rail at the sheer stupidity, remember – you do not have to be there.
In fact… if you disagree at all – please leave. So sorry it’s not working out. Clearly, this wasn’t a good fit.
I’m taking my own advice.
or so they say
Tumultuous times of late. I am pensive and anxiety rides my shoulders, it is a blessing when my instructor tells me to relax them; at her command I find myself able to, deep breath and let it go. It doesn’t matter that she wasn’t directing her comment at me, or that I take it personally, only that I follow the sound of her voice. The way my heart quickens at the beat of music, my breathing ragged with strain, and my fists clench in concentration, all minute actions guided and driven forward into the next second by her demands. The hour is mine and mine alone. I leave the rest at the door and give myself over to another, to someone who only tells me what to do and doesn’t listen to excuses. It’s a relief to not think, to forget what waits on the other side.
Class over. I’m reminded of Eat Pray Love and wonder what it would be like to disappear for a year.
Hard decisions float above the ether, taunting, while I perch beneath in a state of zen-like awareness. She’s trying. He’s trying. The stranger in the corner, the friend I’ve known forever. All the movement within each intention, sorting through past memories and old hurts, as if by examining each will return what was lost. It’s not your problem, I tell her. Neither is that. THAT however, yes, touch it, that one is yours. That veil hanging low before your vision is not of your making. It’s hard to tell the difference, she tells me. To separate out what is real, what is true.
Truth is like a tone in music. It hums with a specific vibration. You know it when you hear it. The rest is a discordant ringing. A lie is easily recognized cacophony, easy to turn away from; the subtle nuances of shaded off-beat clapping, slightly out of place, those are the ones that hurt…
It’s not difficult to say I have trust issues. That I don’t often believe what others say. There is forever a part of my inner dialog that evaluates the vocal tones against my finely tuned vibration of truth. It wasn’t always that way – I believed a liar for a long time – but the practice is automatic now. Too often the harmonic sounds are colored with perception, intentional sincerity, flavored with desire and hidden demands, I’ve come to expect it. The various nuances are pleasing and disturbing, an incautious dance of communication.
Today when asked, I told the truth. It was tapered with other nicer statements, placed carefully around the salted uncomfortableness, to help paint a picture of unmovable clarity. I even laughed between moments of seriousness and halting vulnerability. Any potential consequence for failure to conceal past frustrations and anger were my own; bypassing the politics might prove dangerous, but tonight I will sleep well.
