I’ve woken up to what feels like a new world, and yet I have not full recognized it- another becoming. I can see it, feel it, I am living in it! And yet- like candle light I can not grasp it in my palms.

The hustle and bustle of the world still goes on, cars honking, flowers growing, a win and a challenge. I have been brought gently to a humbling place, where both the cool of night and striking kiss of the day is a reminder that these experiences are both real and dreamlike. But, how are you? How do you feel? I wish you well always, and “give thanks to my God upon every remembrance of you”. How could I forget you are there when I cannot leave you? Where I go, you go. Our bodies are connected.

Then I think of you, and how you make me feel, what your world must be like right now… You’re beauty- even though I can not see you. You’re jokes, although I can’t yet hear your voice. The soft skin, though I have not yet brushed you in a crowd.

My dear, I love you already. I love who you are. I long to love every phase of you, even when it’s time for me to take a step back. Fly freely! How can I create the greatest art the world will ever see from me, and not allow it to be displayed in a gallery, to not allow it to live in another’s home when it’s time?

Sacrificing my mind, body and who I once was for you- has been most rewarding and I speak of you with honor. I hope some day you will recognize that and appreciate it. And while you lay in darkness and mystery- only for a time, you are such a great light in my life. You have changed me for the good.

[The cafe door swings open gently and the little gold bell at the top jingles. High heeled boots click sternly towards Alice. It’s Sarah. They were to meet at this cute cafe down the block and around the corner from their favorite city park for 9:30AM. She was fifteen minutes late. She took a seat opposite her best friend].

Alice: “Sarah, are you okay? You look rushed and flustered.”

Sarah: (sigh) “Yeah, I’m okay.” She said fidgeting her hands anxiously with a forced smile and reserved tears in her eyes. She cleared her throat.

Waiter: “Good morning, ladies. Are you ready to order?”

Alice looked at Sarah to see if she would put in her’s first, she just looked around, did she hear him?

Alice: “I’ll have a black coffee, and she’s having a lavender blend. Just bring the sugar and milk on the side, thanks.” She smiled cheerfully to the waiter.

Waiter: “Sure!” He smiled pleasantly and walked away.

Their eyes met again. Sarah little black leather bag was still slung over her shoulder, Alice raised her eyebrows. Sarah was well dressed as always, her long straight dark hair was perfect and her black turtleneck and jewelry were lovely. Everything seemed fine in her appearance… if you didn’t look closely at her face. Sarah is usually a calm, slightly shy but straight forward, confident and cheerful person once you got to know her. But today something seemed off. She was skittish, a bit pale and distant. Alice tucked back her bouncy ginger hair behind her ear and cleared her throat.

Alice: “So, Sarah. What’s going on?”

Sarah: “Huh? Wh- what do you mean?”

Alice: “I’m your bestfriend, I know when something’s not right. I’ve never really seen you like this. What is it?”

Before she could answer the waiter came back and placed their hot beverages on the small round table, they said thanks and he walked away.

Sarah: “Oh, lavender! I needed this today. Thanks Alice.” She smiled hopefully with tears behind her eyes.

Alice: “I could tell. So what’s going on and why’d you call me here? We don’t usually meet up for coffee until Thursdays so either you really missed me or this is important.”

Sarah: “Well… Okay. I’ve been to see a therapist. She’s great. She’s really helped me to work through somethings so far. It’s only been about a week. I’ll see her again tomorrow. It’s two sessions a week.”

Alice: “Well that’s great, everyone should see someone even if it’s just to help with the work like balance and such.”

Sarah: “Yeah.” She smiled warmly. “I guess everything just sort of hit me last night, I was okay in the sessions, a few tears, but when I really started to reflect I couldn’t bear it. I’ve kept my head up, been strong and pleasant. But it feels as though I’m trapped. It breaks my heart that some people may never change, will always be cruel.”

Alice: “Sarah, I’m sorry. That is hard, but, you can’t change anyone. It's a reflection of them, not you.”

Sarah: “You think so?”

Alice: “You didn’t do anything to them, at least not to warrant such behaviour even if they were offended by something.”

Sarah: “I hope so.”

Alice: “You’re still taking it on.”

Sarah: “I know… I just hope to move on soon, I’m really hopeful, but sometimes it feels like I’m trapped or being punished. Not that I don’t believe I will move forward, but some days it feels like the walls are caving in.”

Alice: “You said that these women are girls you went to school with, right?”

Sarah: “Yes… I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, you know? A little grace… but they haven’t changed. I genuinely don’t know what I could have done. I’m strong enough to speak out or something, but, what about when they hold a higher position than you?”

Alice: “It’s so crazy that the three of them just started working there two years ago and have a promotion higher than yours!”

Sarah: “It is…”

Alice: “But that just means the problem is not you, it’s them. It’s all a reflection of what’s on the inside. Does your boss know? Did you talk to her?”

Sarah: “Of course she knows, she just doesn’t care. She’s in on it. She laughs with them and doesn’t stop the things she’s seen, wether I mention it or not.”

Alice: “What are you going to do?”

Sarah: “I’ve be applying for different jobs. I’ll move cities to take the best opportunity.” {Sighs} “This has had me breaking down just about every week. Sometimes I just don’t have tears, I cry but nothing comes out. Grinding my teeth at night, headaches… Crying only scratches the surface of all that’s there!”

Alice: “My gosh… please don’t make yourself sick! You need your strength.”

Sarah: “Alice… I’m so tired, my tears almost feel wasted… I just want to move on.”

Alice: “You’ve fought long enough… It’s time for some peace of mind.”

Alice leans forward, grasping Sarah’s hand warmly… She smiles hopefully and they finish their tea in a calm silence as the waiter pours more into their cups.

A day during pre-school, it was our reading assessment, I would have been perhaps two or three years of age, four at the most. I was one of the last few children to take the assessment that day, I think I had just woken up from nap time to do mine… I sat at the table with one of our teachers, and was to read this little pink covered book. It was thin and had black and white images and short sentences in it with basic words; “I had fun”, “The fox can run and jump", ect… I was almost done this book and got stuck on one of the last few pages… I can’t remember what the sentence was but it had the word “You” in it. I couldn’t remember it. I stuttered and thought. Retrying it and replaying the memories from our lessons in my head to remember what it was. My teacher began to get impatient and upset. “What’s the word?”, “I’m not sure”, “Read it again, we did this in class and you know it.”.. “Y-, yow…” My mind was foggy and I just couldn’t get the word out. She grew angrier as the seconds skipped pass and the stuttering continued. She pointed adamantly with her pen “Y-O-U! What does it spell?!” “I don’t know.” “You’re not trying”, “Yes, I am. I can’t remember. Can you tell me?” “Go in time out, you’re not trying!”

I got up and my socks slid nervously across the floor to the corner between two doors. I was confused, why couldn’t I remember? I grasped my hands together, and they began to sweat, I played with my fingers while I searched the files of my mind to remember, stretching the mind. Our other teacher came in through one of doors I was between…

“Why is Hannah in the corner? What did she do?”

“She’s messing around and wasting time, talking about how she doesn’t remember.”

A hot tear ran down my face. My head sank further into my neck and my skin became hot and red. I felt a deep shame that day, from that moment, that lingered with me and haunted me through spaces, phases and even the smallest moments in my life. I thought about how the other kids in my class got through and had little struggles, or how when the did, they were cheered on and smiled when they got it correct and remembered. I think from that moment, my young mind decided that she hated reading. That she wasn’t smart enough. That her peers were always going to be smarter and ahead of her, and she’d always struggle.

I subconsciously told myself that reading and loving books was reserved for certain people. That this exclusive club would never be welcomed or opened to me, because I wasn’t deserving. I believed, til writing this, that I was a fraud and liar when I said I loved books because, how could I? I’ve avoided books, reading aloud and struggled to understand. My throat dried and chest tightened when I was asked to read, even alone. I always told myself, the truth that I loved how books looked, felt and made people feel, but I could only sample it like juice and the mall bodega, but I would never buy the bottle. I wanted to love reading, to love books and to be a bookworm. I loved listening to people read, imagining the scenes in my mind and how happy a book could make you… It might sound like a silly ambition, or thing when it’s easy to say and admit “just pick up a book and read”…

As I got older and we were asked to read books at school. To take a book from the library and write a book report about it, and to read from the Summer Reading List. I used to read some of it, and run out of time… I started skipping pages, sentences and words. I would just write based on what I read but to focus on what I liked and remembered the most…

I remember when one summer, we were told to read ‘Miss Peregrine’s Home For Peculiar Children’, and I failed.

But years later I was at an all girls school, we were seniors and I challenged myself to try again. I mentioned to the girls in my class that I wanted to read it over it and the support was overwhelming. They would ask “Did you read today?”, “How far along are you now?”

It was the first time I read a book on my own to completion, not a summer reading, not a book we were reading as a class, it was on my own volition. It took about a month to read entirely the first time as I would only read it at school before and between classes, in waiting for the bus or at lunch, taking my time. And I loved it! About a month later I read it again in a week, in the same format. Again, I loved it! Since then I’ve just craved reading the other books in the collection.

Every time I leave a book unfinished, pages waiting, the guilt keeps me from going back and repeats on my mind when I do. This must sound odd from someone who wants to be known for their writing some day… A writer who doesn’t read? But now I’m ready to move forward. In no peculiar way, my writing has encouraged me to move forward. Healing and freedom from openly admitting these things to another person, especially face to face, has opened my eyes.

You know what I mean! THAT feeling, like when you and the ladies meet up at 4:30 on a Friday afternoon for tea, while the world is still busy.

Oh gosh! That feeling when you’ve had a great day and spin to land on your bed.

I love the feel of late afternoon settling in, where the sunlight changes, the wind blows a little more gently and it’s cooler outside. It brings to memory the nostalgia of being at school when our teacher would call us outside to read to us, and the cool sea breeze would tickle my ear as I drifted off to her soft voice — I miss her.

Do you know the feeling of finishing a painting, or a sketch, and just being content with how its turned out? What about reading a lovely soft cover book and feeling that texture lightly grips your fingers? It comforts you like a cup of warm tea, right?

Well, after all of these things I’ve described to you… Have you felt them? What if I told you, you could feel like this all the time if you wanted to? That there’s a version of your world where everything can feel settled, warm, comforting and beautiful? Would you believe me? Would you consider it?

What is that feeling?

You’ve carried us with such strength, endurance and with no complaints. You’ve figured this is your end of the stick. You, so weighed down by your burdens must know little of rest. Your sad continence, yet radiant colour in the life of your offspring. Spring! Spring forth to a better life. Release your burdens and refresh yourself. Feel your youth again, before the grief and troubles were known. I wish to see you revitalized. Yet you sit and ponder… Hooked onto the stem for safety. You dare not venture while you carry us.

Seahorse, seahorse.

Loved and cherished. Admired and covered in prayer.. You’ve given us memories, lessons and strength.

Seahorse, seahorse.

Raise your head and see this piece to you.. with a loving heart and tender eyes,

Thank you.

Even now the pen will dry before it kisses the page again.. I’m sorry.

“It doesn’t need to be perfect, there’s no perfect time to wait and plan for it. Write how you feel.” This gentle voice keeps me afloat in the endless deep that is the ocean of the mind.

I wanted to be my best for you and yet, my devotion to an ideology will keep you waiting for many more moons. So here I am writing off out of spontaneity.

I am caught, dear reader, between two worlds. One that I believe myself to already be tethered to in a most natural fashion- all that I am aligns with this world, we’ll call her Eden. Within Eden I feel welcomed, I’ve always admired the Earth Angels who so gracefully dance through Eden’s rivers and play in her grass. And yet, with all this admiration, I fear I’ve believed that I am underserving of her cool water and the grace that is breathed into her air.

You, Vegas! You, although not everything I hope for, though I know it’s a mask, you edge at me. Pulling me to your lights and sounds, you make me feel small. There are few things I admire about you.

However, like any good traveler, I’ll make my field notes and move on. Where will I pitch my tent or build my house? Sure home is where the heart is, even if it needs a bit of healing. Eden- my dear friend! Do not fade away. Don’t turn your ever steady eyes and abundant heart away. While I sit on this fence I think fondly of you and want to drink cups of your water again.

Eden, I’ll embrace you in return. Let’s survey the land, pitch a tent and spend the night. As I stare up at the canopy of stars, you remind me of who I am, and what I could be.

Enlighten me.

Painting Credit: John Everett Millais’ “Ophelia”(1851–1852)

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Person A: “I want to give up. No one likes my art. I write and I’m overlooked, my teachers, fellow writers. I paint and no one stops to think, or analyze. I’m creating into a void. There are no rewards for trying.”

Grandfather: “You are moved to tears… You want validation?”

Person A: “No. I want connection. I write to such depths. I share parts of my soul.”

Grandfather: “Let me see.”

[…]

Grandfather: “It is deep. You seem very vulnerable. Doesn’t that scare you? People who share a-lot and love hard get hurt the most.”

Person A: “Yes, it does… And I swallow the fear every time I start and release my art into the crowded skies of other creations.”

Grandfather: “So you believe that because your work is profound and due to your vulnerability, that you should have an audience of people who notice you? Who stop to admire you and tell you how good a job you’re doing?”

Person A: “You make me seem shallow and critical. It’s human to want validation and appraisals. That is not what I seek, what I write or paint for. It’s for the opportunity to relate on a deeper level. To provoke thought or invoke emotion. I want to change perspective and question rules and emotions.”

Grandfather: “That’s not how it works. You should understand people and how they think, what they like and gravitate to before you create. Even if it’s not for it to be the complete center of attention.”

Person A: “I suppose. Maybe it’s because I’m an introvert… because I have been socially anxious and find it hard to fit in on a daily, real world basis. Maybe something is wrong with me…”

Grandfather: “There’s nothing wrong with you. Or other people for choosing other works above yours, or choosing to voice there preferences. Perhaps you don’t understand yourself quiet as well as you think you do.”

Person A: “That’s possible.”

Grandfather: “You still look downcast.”

Person A: “I just believe in my stuff so much, the potential it has, I’m so ambitious. If Shakespeare wrote and published the stuff I do it would get the flowers it deserves.”

Grandfather: [Chuckles] “You really believe you’re that good to compare yourself to William?”

Person A: “I don’t know… maybe…”

Grandfather: “Don’t curl into yourself…”

{Grandfather looks at Person A, they’ve shrunk themselves, shoulders slouched, head down, eyes low. Person A starts to rub their arms and hug themselves, eyes drifting; full, yet empty.]

Grandfather: “It’s good to believe in yourself. That’s part of the first step other than simply starting… Right now you remind me of a child, as though I can see the five year old version of you that was shoved out of the way when the candy bursts out of the piñata.”

Person A: “Yeah… I guess I could understand that.”

Grandfather: “Well, before I go off. Let me impart this. Do you think Shakespeare would be as known and praised as one of the best, most glorious artistes that we speak of and study now, without the Queen having such a strong opinion of him?”

[I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m not very articulate and if I write a second part of this, I said it so well in a rant to my husband but as I finished and said “I should write about this” its clarity left me].

I think there comes a point in everyone’s life when we want to evolve and let go of certain ideas or habits that do not meet eye-to-eye with who we want to be or deeply are that is now beginning to surface. Evolving is good and perfectly normal, no one is the same as when they were a child or in high-school, even from age 20 to 30 we change! And yet, there is still that person or people who say “You’ve changed”, “You didn’t always dress like this”, ect. There is nothing wrong with getting to know yourself more or better your quality of life, fix the things you can fix, do the things you’ve always wanted to or maybe just recently wanted to try. Saying things like “You’re forgetting where/what you came from”, “You think your better than me now”. We are pigeonholing one another when we do this. Everyone deserves a chance to spread their wings.

What am I evolving from?

1. The idea that I have or want to look or be like everyone else. I am only now accepting that I won’t get any taller or shorter, my hair will never naturally be long and straight, my body won’t become petite and slim… you were made this way for a reason, your skin won’t get lighter or darker, my face won’t get slimmer and chiseled. And although one could change those things about themselves, I no longer want to, I don’t have to. I truly think this is the start to self love and acceptance that the girlies talk about.

2. My fresh start also looks like me being kinder to myself, taking my time to do the things I like and want to try. Not an impossibly long list that is harsh, but a gentle set of ideas.

3. Not feeling like I have to explain myself all of the time.

4. One major thing I’m doing is getting a big haircut, a pixie cut. I’ve cut my hair short before but this time is different and warmer. And why am I doing it? I just want to. Trying something new.

In the continuation of this piece I’ll discuss comparison and the hard pressing of insecurity (in different forms).

There are days when you feel so on-top of the world, ambition knows no bounds, there is nothing you don’t want to do! You say to yourself “I’ll start that business”, “I’ll make that video”, “I’ll get in shape”…. and on it goes. And as the sunrises and the moon goes backstage to rest until called to perform again…

And you wake up with a giant gray wall in your face… no ambition, there are bounds, you don’t want to do anything.

I want to say I’d just like to get up and do it, do whatever it is I “had” to do. But sometimes it’s just as bad as if you didn’t start at all. Where does the ambitious, youthful and energized person from yesterday go?

I’d search high and low but I don’t think I’d find her. Sometimes, I wonder if I did find her if I would recognize her. If she would recognize me. Could I pick her out of the croud so easily? And yet, as that day passes and anew looks ahead, there she stands looking back at me again. Two sides of the same coin.

As God’s mercies are new each day, I pray that this ambition finds me again, I recognize her again. Maybe it’s an awakening I have not yet rose to… Until then I continue to pray that I and Ms Ambitious, the other side of the coin that is myself, will meet again with a strong cup of tea and warm smiles of familiarity.