Many Lives
I have a birthday in a few days. This inevitably calls for retrospection.
So many lives already lived…
There was the brown-eyed girl born in Mississippi who grew up exploring a sea of cotton fields surrounding her family’s old white house, a cup of sweet well water from the back porch one of her favorite ways to cool down during the hot summer.
There was the talkative and chubby preteen who wanted more than anything to please people, learning at an early age to put the comfort of others before her own. “If everybody else is happy”, she believed, “maybe I will be, too.”
There was the dramatic young girl in high school obsessed with looking the part and playing many roles, a black leather day planner attached to her hip with lists full of ways to stay busy.
There was the beauty school dropout.
There was the girl that drove to New Orleans for her 21st birthday and signed a lease before traveling back home to pack all her belongings. The voodoo, she thought, would do her some good.
There was the young woman that got robbed at gunpoint one night after work, on the steps to her apartment. She woke up the next morning to find her father at her door, a U-haul idling behind him.
There was the girl that worked three jobs one spring so she could afford to spend the summer in Italy. She went to study language and art, but what she came to know most was the smell of her favorite cafe, the shaded reading spot in her favorite piazza, and the cool relief of her apartment floor during that summer’s heat wave.
There was the girl that stayed up all night to draw abstract things for strangers because life felt ripe and free and there was always plenty of wine and weed to go around.
There was the girl that started her career in Atlanta and never talked to anyone outside of work except her cats.
There was the girl that moved to Charleston for love and immediately had her heart broken to bits.
There was the restless young professional that jumped at every opportunity to move up, move forward. She made plenty of mistakes. She learned plenty of hard-earned lessons.
There was the young bride that made wedding vows at sunset on the harbor. She giggled when the rain came pouring down and her groom grabbed her hand to lead her to a safe, screened-in porch.
There was the young mother that cried alone in her bathroom because she was so overwhelmed with exhaustion and worry.
There was the middle-aged woman weighted down with poor eating habits, low self esteem, a failing marriage, shortage of energy, and a fear that life was going to swallow her up.
There was the woman that stopped dead in her tracks and thought, there is more to this.
There’s the woman that covets her coffee and books and solitude.
There’s the mother that’s certain she’s doing it all wrong.
There’s the adult that has become unabashedly protective of personal space and energy and is surprised at how little tolerance she has for people that feel toxic, selfish, and fake.
There’s the soul that grieves for the impermanence of it all.
There’s the heart that burns.
There’s gratitude and joyful love in all of her.
