Just Be

I must've climbed up on that roof a thousand times before we moved. 

There was something about that childhood home of ours - those walls covered with family portraits which hung in the same place for over a decade, the wallpaper in the bathroom... that tiny little bathroom... building forts in the family room and playing games until dusk on Bermont Drive.  I get like this, sometimes. So nostalgic and reflective. 

It's times like these that the fear which so routinely fills up my world is replaced by this powerful understanding. I so deeply want to bring to life that which has never existed before, to give this feeling an outlet and see what happens on the other side of that blank canvas. I want to create something authentic and worthy of my life; something I find to be beautiful and sacred and holy. Something that allows me to translate this powerful feeling of urgency in a way that makes me take a step back and say, "Yes. That." And then I find myself staring at a blank page... 

What is it about White Space that has the power to inspire me
But when it comes right down to it,
Me on White Space? It shakes me to my very core.
Maybe it's the permanency,
Or maybe it's the ease in which these words I've spent my entire life searching for are so easily removed.

Me on White Space.
The concept is so freeing,
but the reality? It has me frozen in the Space between these keys,
In the Space between these lines,
In the Space between my struggle.

The idea of turning the magnifying glass inward and having what is found within transpose to this space
is beyond paralyzing.
Perfection to mask the White Space -
A side I haven't fully seen,
But really, a side I haven't fully faced.
So I look to other people who have walked this path before me,
And I try to make their path a path that will finally allow me to tell my story,
But what I keep coming back to is the same old story.
And what I keep coming back to is the same white space that allows me to tell my story - 


Written  March 2015


 *** 

There is one incredible theme behind almost every post I've written: an inability to see that this, that life, is a journey. It's not about the product - it's all about the process. The lessons, the memories, the experiences, the growth, the laughter... that's what this is about. And the most beautiful thing is that there's no right or wrong in that.  I've wanted to create something authentic and worthy of my life; something I found to be beautiful and sacred and holy. As I read through the hundreds of journal entries I've written since the 7th grade, I'm realizing that the free spirited, eccentric little girl who lived  all those years ago is my lighthouse out of the waves I've found myself in.

She was authentic and fearless, and the life she created was beautiful.