My soul gets uncomfortable and that’s when I know it’s time to write. I’m going through one of those super philosophical periods in my life. Asking myself ridiculous questions like, “Why am I here?” “What the fug is my purpose?” My writing usually reveals these answers to me in a whisper usually only I can hear. I need to hear. I feel lost. My life is semi together now. Kids are good. I’m learning to parent in a way I never thought possible and my relationship with my kids is changing, for the better. I have a dude that may or may not love me. He puts up with me for now anyway which is all I can ask for. Car, house, nice bedding, funny friends, girls I mentor, service positions in the recovery community, on and on like this. I am a person! A real girl. Then why the fug am I so uncomfortable in my skin, my body? I’m not living to my fullest potential and my spirit knows it. I just cannot figure out what the stirring is. I have debated going back to school-I don’t want to. Get married? Fug no. Have another baby? No. Just no. What is my spirit needing for goodness sake?
I recently starting seeing a “life coach.” I am so awesome I need a coach to help me live life. That’s a degree of awesome that is misunderstood by normal people. In any case, she tells me my energy is Orange and that I am creative but there is a wall up. Well, if that ain’t right on target. I have a longing to create but I have never been good at crafts or drawing or anything artistic really. I think my elementary art teacher felt sorry for me. I was that kid that could never get the project quite right. Oh, bless that little girl’s heart! If it was abstract art I nailed it. Every.time. So I have no artistic ability but I long to create. Great. That rhymed.
So why am I here? I think it’s something about love. Remembering my higher self. Going from love to love. I really have no idea. I know something has to change or I’m going to create some random issue that isn’t there or have a nervous breakdown. I like to say nervous breakdown. What does a nervous breakdown entail exactly? Ok, no. The only I experience I have with being uncomfortable is literally using something outside of myself to dull this longing or pain or whatever the fug THIS is. Well, I’ve tried it all at this point and I’ve hit a wall. Nothing outside of me is going to change the way I feel. Only I can. I am responsible for the shiz. Now, whoever made that decision is a worse lunatic than me, for the record. Anyway, I have to make the changes, take the risks and find the courage. The only option left is to sabotage all the crap I’ve spent over a year trying to build. So the first step with all this nonsense is to figure out who I am. Ok, notepad in hand. Jen is…hilarious…smart…ridiculous. Cross all that shiz out. I don’t even know. I’ve always just liked what was cool. If my best friend enjoyed pink as her favorite color then hell give me the pink one. If those jeans were cute on you then they damn sure fit me just fine. You like to read, well fug, so do I! My self concept is a weird conglomerate of crap around me. So I’m finding out I really do enjoy the color pink but it has to be the brightest ass pink you eva saw! It turns out I like things that are loud because I am loud. I like to dance so horribly that all my friends won’t claim they brought me to the establishment. I like to sing loudly and horribly. I love how the air smells right before snow starts falling. I love watching people do what they have white hot passion for. I love the look in my kids eyes when they discover something new. I love how my bed feels after I’ve just washed all the sheets. I love being told I’m pretty. I love the sound of laughter and will do anything possible to make sure I hear every person’s laugh that I meet. I love the way printed words look on the page of a book. I love my black glasses and don’t know who I would be without them. I love my tenacious spirit. Whoa, I AM a real person.
Ok, so what does all this love mean? It means that I have every single thing right inside of me that I could possibly need to make this change. Damn it, I’m good at shiz. I don’t need relationships that cover my flame. I don’t need to internalize people’s judgments of me anymore. I don’t have to stay where I don’t belong simply because I want so badly to belong there. I’ve been trying my whole life to belong somewhere. Let’s try this job, this music, this man. It’s turning out that I belong everywhere that makes my heart sing. Doesn’t matter if it’s profound or mundane. I belong where I feel the ability to bust out the bright pink socks and dance to my own tune. It’s time, my friends, for another new chapter. This one keeps going on and on and it’s not really saying anything anymore. It’s getting so boring that I’m snoozing in my own damn story! This ones gonna hurt because I love familiarity. Who doesn’t? But if it doesn’t hurt it means I’m not alive and I’ve worked way to damn hard to get here to be dead on my feet.
Be courageous friends! Go where your heart sings and the pink socks are allowed. I’ll meet you there!
injenshumbleopinion 