Tight Rope Walking; To The Garden

In the great nature of young adulthood, I recently had a moment of reflection, and recognized that within the two years that spanned my last post here on Girl Talk til now, how completely life had shown me the opposite point of view of where I stood firmly in that time.

In my last post here on Girl Talk, I definitively said “it is better to stand in the valley, than climb the wrong mountain”, and I do believe that at 19 years old, that was what suited me then, but as I reflect between then and my now 21 year old self, I can’t help but recognize all of the moments in my life that messily contradicted that, and how wonderful a place it has lead me.

When that was written, I felt extremely uncomfortable with being “unproductive”, which I now recognize is a result of living during the age of late stage capitalism, and the idea that I am only worthy when I produce something to be consumed. I needed that time to “sit in the valley” and I justified that decision in this “I don’t want to climb the wrong mountain” but as time goes on, I realize that there is no one “right mountain” that life is not finding a path, it’s about creating one. That life is coming from me, not at me, that we each contain multitudes, and contradictions, and semicolons.

I’m sure we are all familiar with the famous fig tree analogy. And I do believe that given Sylvia’s cultural, political, and psychological climate, this extreme isolation of paths diverging before her, made perfect sense, and has continued to resonate through the decades, as it did for me for some time.

Along with that, I add my own point of view. In my recent experience, many of the most beautiful moments of my life, along with the most horrific, I had very little control over. I used to have an extremely deterministic view of life, and this idea, that every thought, moment, and subconscious happening was leading to the next, leading to one definitive outcome, carving my story and self into the ever present granite block of time, only lead me to an extreme need to control and fight against this perceived uncertainty, and to make it certain. A pressure to perform, to craft this sculpture, and fill the unintentional chippings of my story with denial, or anger, or spite.

This fight left me with a great detachment from my body, from my emotions, my spirit, and ultimately, my own life.

This perspective began eating at me, as it would any. This rigidity of tight rope walking through life lead to burn out, and deep shame. And eventually, these perceived failures began to add up, and the exhaustion began to build, and rumination took over.

I didn’t consciously decide to break away from this path, but as I reached a point where I simply could not control “it all” -although I’d like to point out, I never really could- life itself began breaking down this rigidity, through a lot of panicked happenings.

Through this stumbling, my life began to shape into something beyond my expectations, and in that, the fear of the unknown didn’t lessen, but became familiar, palatable.

I began to notice that within these stumblings, within these leaps into faith, either by choice or at the hand of fate, possibilities began to arise that never had room to manifest before.

I now see my life as more of a garden of wild flowers I am attending, than stepping stones across the River of fate.

I can plant and seed many opportunities, through daily choices. And what grows into fruition is some part effort, some part chance, and in that, buds grow that I never would have imagined possible. It’s a beautiful and mysterious dance, we play in this life. Let us lean in. Indulge in it, and let the fear be there. Let it pass through. Make friends with it.

I found grace in my own perceived shortcomings, and in my own dance. I believe now that life is much more merciful than I once believed, it is contradictory, and sporadic, and enigmatic, and in that there are these glimmers, these moments where the water stills, where the buds bloom, and where I used to say it wasn’t just right, that I wasn’t enough,

I say now that I am but the gardener,

and I turn to the roses,

and I say thank you.