What central story is at the core of you, and how do you share it with the world? (Bonus: Consider your reflections from this month. Look through them to discover a thread you may not have noticed until today.) (Author: Molly O’Neill)
“Do I contradict myself?/Very well, then, I contradict myself./(I am large–I contain multitudes.)” -Walt Whitman; Song of Myself
My core story cannot be quantified, cannot be defined. It is unique to me and the same as yours (and yours, and yours…). It is vague and specific; malleable with hard, definite edges. Large and small, beatific and devilish, it evolves with the tick of the clock–appearing to be one thing or another depending on the angle of the sun. I cannot contain it, but it is mine definitely, even as it stretches its roots into the fabric of all it touches.
As my words flow out, so does my story, reaching toward you, feeling for that handhold, fumbling for that lightswitch. Tomorrow, I will be different, but today, right now, this second, I am the following:
I am a girl, and hopefully always so, woman never seems to fit. I am masculine in force and tall in spirit. I wrestle and engage adult issues, but am ill at ease in an adult world. I am lonely, even amongst the hoards on my exodus and I assert my independence even as I cry over not being claimed. I believe in lesson and that which consistently reinforces that I’m never faced with something I don’t have the tools to interact with. I live for a deep breath; it’s the only thing that remains constant whether I have planned meticulously or just taken a blind, running leap.
I am a seeker, and, more now than ever, I seek to touch upon a truth–THE Truth. That universal verisimilitude that is mine, yours, ours and theirs. I seek to find a purpose and a road through this human condition; that one string that vibrates in tune to my own vacuum cleaner hum. I look to wake up in the morning with my face toward the sun, inviting the day’s experience in, even if it looks to steal everything I own.
This year, I will live like I mean it; with importance, and the knowledge that the Secret Meaning is tangible and available to me. I will write, taking that path as far as it leads, because I know that something lies there at the end. I will share what I have, what I know, what I’ve learned, but so will I keep and hold close that which I’ve earned and come hard by.
I will remember this year’s lessons, and do right by those I love. I will appreciate the small beauties and take in the minor scrapes. I will remind myself to live by the simple tenet that I am small and the world is large; that in living freely and on a grand scale, I can make a mark and be marked on.
I feel big things for this coming year. I can see the pendulum swinging straight into the light. My story is not yet fully told, and it will be many things before it’s over, I’ll be damned if “boring” is one of them.
Let’s bring it home with a little more of Mr Whitman’s divine words, shall we?
“I too am not a bit tamed–I am too untranslatable;/I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.”