Do we all feel this: worry that we are too much? How often do we feel we must dumb ourselves down, shut ourselves up, close ourselves off? Often I feel I have too many feelings, too many thoughts, too many words. Often I feel I want too much. It's not that I want a bigger or a different plot of land, I just want to have a garden, full, with lush and lovely blooms, with wild vines and trees of solid oak, with sweet fruit and hearty food, roots that grasp and plunge deep, wrapped tight and far into the earth. I don't want a different plot of land. I just want it all to grow.
I want few things, but they are all unlikely [to make manifest my songs, my writing, your heart, to summarize]. And I am wondering if that makes me irresponsible to go after one or most of them. I am gripped by the uncertainty so much that it makes it all seem foolish. But then there are the moments of being so sure: when I forego sleep and uncover a new story inside of me, when I lose a whole day to write another song that captures a former fleeting thought, after walking all of the sidewalks of this city with you. Those moments bring the same assurance as the earth hinting at summer weather (it will surely come), taking a flight without a plan (it will surely be grand), drifting on a boat in the middle of the lake (this is surely where you are meant to be).
What else should we be doing except fighting ferociously for what sets our hearts on fire?
[This question has been stuck in my head for weeks, and I feel like everything is echoing it around me].
Day to day I change the priority of what kind of woman I would like to become; sometimes I want to be bold, and then some days it feels more important to become graceful. I wish I was more classy, and while we are making a list I wish I was more patient and well-kept too. But then, I also wish to be the kind of person that throws caution to the wind, is always the first to jump into a car and drive across cities and towns for no particular reason, the first to dance with abandon in dive bars or to ruffle some feathers around the office. And I also want to be thoughtful, and considerate, and sweet and lovely, but to also have the last word and curse inappropriately and be sarcastic. I have expensive taste and I want to sell everything I own and live nowhere across the world. If I could find a way to be everything all at once that would make things a lot easier on me.
I hope to say of the second half of my twenties that I was gentle, but unapologetic. I hope that I can say I learned that I don't owe anyone anything; in everything there is choice, and also not everyone deserves to see every corner of my heart. I hope I will be more spontaneous and less reserved, that I will jump in more lakes and dance without care and wake up in the middle of the night and drive to another city, and say "yes, why not?" more often. I hope I made plans to be close to the ocean, if not because I now live in a beach bungalow by the sea, then because every vacation brought me back there. I hope I showed less worry about how my body looks to others, that I didn't cross my arms so much or hunch my shoulders, that I didn't stress about being the prettiest or the most put together, that I ate well and healthy and often and ordered carrot cake from my favourite restaurant, because it feels better. I hope I will say I was not afraid to ask for more, of myself, of others. I hope I will be able to say I did more work, that my hands were ink stained and eyes weary from staying up later to do something really, really well, or because I was at my friend's house painting or holding her hand.
I hope I can say I became really reliable friend. I hope I made the time to sit down for coffee and came over to help move and did your dishes. I hope that when friends asked something of me, I was already there.
And in Love: that I didn't welcome someone in just because I was lonely, because there is nothing more lonely than going to sleep beside someone that is not your home. That I didn't apologize for all of the uncontrollable giggles I sometimes get, or the fact that I like to sleep in at least two days a week, or that I don't drink whiskey or scotch, or that I'm not good at snowboarding or tennis (because sometimes people use those kinds of things to make you feel small). I hope I didn't apologize for the fact that I wanted to throw my arms around your neck and kiss you in the market.
I hope that I will say that I made room for the things I love, even if making room means eating spaghetti four nights a week for a whole year (and I don't particularly love spaghetti), or leaving this city or staying in this city or singing songs that sometimes I don't like, or living in apartments that don't have a lot of windows. I hope that I will be able to say that I tried really hard, and I shared everything, and I put in the work.
I hope I was more mindful of my wild heart, and all its musings. I hope I was more available and less doubtful to the possibility that my life can be richer and more full than I could ever even consume.
[Photo from Madewell].