The Heading and the Wind

I imagine coming into the world. With light shining through my eyelids, eyes burning, perceiving light for the first time, not having words for what it is. Being helpless, yet, not knowing it; being in pain, yet, not knowing it; being loved, yet, not knowing it.

I imagine growing up, being guided through school. Gathering words to articulate feelings I haven't felt, learning new things about the larger world beyond me. Wanting to play and yet, be left alone. Being told what it is to have a successful life. Being pushed, molded -- casted.

I imagine finding out the cast wasn't made for my material, my being. How the path of high school, college, and a career didn't quite fit my heart. Feeling disconnected from those who had followed a path that I didn't take... then eventually reconciling differing lives. Feeling unbecoming.

The switch. I imagine graduating from high school, going into college, getting a good job, moving up the ladder, moving to another career, falling in love, getting married, moving out of an apartment, getting a condo, getting in debt, selling the condo, moving into a house, having a child, having a dog... having all these things because I followed a path. Yet, I didn't.

Things don't always happen the way I plan. I guess it doesn't help that I haven't planned anything in a long while. I recently moved to Portland Oregon. The thought of moving to Portland, living in Portland never really crossed my mind until one of my friends invited me to live up here.

So I made a move. Tried finding a job in a trying market, which at times left me feeling helpless and despaired. Being away from my family and friends was wearisome as well; and although I never wondered "why I am here?" always thinking to myself, "I am here, and this is what I'm going to do." I can't say that this journey hasn't had its difficulties... its all been burdensome... but I've never been happier.

Being on my own feels like being born into a world I was somewhat familiar with, and the light shone through my eyelids still burned; I could hear the world I was to be a part of in my mother's womb, then being born with all the deafening audacity of the world booming into my ears. Being born is dissonant freedom, as is independence. Independence for me meant to have a willingness to pursue living. To be unguided and humbly seek guidance, to think and do by will and choice. Pursuing a being outside of me, I prayed for a direction, prayed for a way to make things possible... prayed to discover what the hell I'm doing with my life. Prayed to live, only to discern I was only surviving... and that is only enough.

I guess this is what you call a transition.

The Heading, the Wind

My life at times feels as though its a book writing itself. At times, I feel as though a minor character in my own story. At times, I've become the voice, the narrator in my own life telling myself what has happened, then giving insight to this unlikely protagonist with the voice of Morgan Freeman.

I've seen myself I've become the person whom I've cheered for in movies, hoping I survive the tale. These parts of the story usually take place when I'm faced with uncertainty and odds against my will. I'm not a hero, not even in my own story... and yet, I cheer, hoping that I will make it through... then polarizing myself at times as the villain, the victim, or the erroneous judge.

I imagine myself as a vessel at times, for all my hopes, my dreams; floating on the ocean without a heading being and thrust by the wind. Everything about who I am is in this ship, lost in a vast and desolate ocean.

I imagine that there is a crew on this ship. My family, my friends, those most dear to me. They've become a part of me, they've reflected to me who I've become and sometimes who I was. They tell me to steer. They tell me to lookout ahead. They support me, they raise my sails. The vessel moves as I catch the wind.

Without them in love and loyalty, life in the vessel would be so bleak. There would be no room for love or companionship. There'd be no use for drink, or food, or art... there'd be no use in screaming "BEAUTY, BEAUTY, I CAN SEE IT IN FRONT OF ME; CAN YOU?!" Joy would be the whisper of the narrator in my mind saying, "beauty, beauty, it is." In many ways, everything I would need to survive is on this ship.

Twenty seven years on the water, finally, I'm realizing what courage and bravery means. I've casted my sail, not knowing where I would go. As my vessel moves, I scour the ship to find out what is missing for me to live. In the vessel I find empty boxes; and its terrifying to know something may be missing. Of all the words I've learned, bravery has felt like the one that often eludes me. Bravery to me is what it feels like to pursue the void despite the odds and courage is knowing how treacherous the journey can be, yet continuing to adventure to seek the missing. This is my heading, despite the wind.