All that I know now

Growing older has taught me how to mark the end of the seasons. I watched the brilliant blue of a summer sky become grotesquely marked by wildfire, felt the suffocating heaviness of heat waves succumb to cold breezes that blew through me as sharp as daggers. I watched as tree canopies transformed from lush greeneries to impressionist mosaics of dandelion yellow and burnt orange, until all that remained were the black and barren branches of their naked forms, forlorn and elegant.

The transitions from summer to fall to winter have only become more familiar, and yet they seem to change more quickly, the time passing faster every year. I mourn too much the departure of the seasons, cling a little too desperately to these chapters that I never feel I had enough time to fully savor. It is a bit like catching a glimpse of a hummingbird in a garden: just as you are truly taking in the grace of its beauty, it has already disappeared the moment you stop to blink.

This fall I said goodbye for an indefinite amount of time to the grandmother that raised me. The woman who wiped my tears and made me snacks and picked me up from kindergarten. As I got older, the role of caregiver and care receiver reversed, and like the passing of the seasons, it somehow happened without me realizing. It is even strange now, to think she is not a part of my life everyday — though I suppose she still is, because I think of her, and am grateful to her everyday of my life.

As I get older, I always find myself wishing I spent more time with family. I am constantly beating myself up over things I think I should do, even when it isn’t my first instinct to do them. I ruminate a lot over this: my tendency to suffer from internal negative feedback over every action I take.

I buckle so often under some perceived pressure from others, to show up more for them, to be more for them, internalizing and creating unnecessary guilt that dampens the quality of my relationships. I am learning to trace this back to my own insecurities about being good enough, to stop second guessing how well I am treating others, to stop doubting my own worth.

Every day is a step forward in my evolution of self. Here is the thing I continue to learn with age: as you fill it, the metaphysical cup of life only gets larger. You try to balance what you hold space for, with all your passions and career choices, your friends and your family. Despite the fact that our families created the foundations for who we are, the nuances of what shapes our lives grows infinitely beyond them. And as we grow, we become so attached to the idea of progress — to be able to make concrete comparisons that who we are now is qualitatively better than who we were before.

But I don’t believe there is such thing as linear development of growth. Not like the facts and figures and direct causations you can find in the immaculate truth of science and math. Growth in how we change as people is a phenomena that never really becomes clear until you’re past it, can turn around and see the clear reflection of who you used to be. Even then, so much of what catalyzes change is not fixed but fluid, as the actions of your past self continue to affect the decisions you make in the present, ultimately shaping the person you are actively becoming.

In many ways, growth has turned into this criminal line up of all my past selves standing in a room, shoulder to shoulder. I look at all these previous iterations of myself, and love them so much more now than I did when I was them. So maybe that is actually what growth is: honoring every version of who you used to be — their dreams, desires, and their mistakes — and learning what it means to take all the best parts with you as you keep moving forward.

It’s all a rigorous balancing act, trying to understand yourself. Wanting to know why you are the way you are, striving to understand your purpose, to once and for all know what you need to do to make yourself “happy”. But here is what we forget when we think about happiness: at the end of the day, you will live and die alone in the body you were born in. I don’t mean this to sound defeatist in anyway, but the hard truth is that our existence is ultimately a solitary one. This is where the misconception comes in — or maybe it is the very nature of being human — that we strive for structure or a sense of meaning in the ways we construct the world around us.

If we have the right amount of money, the ideal family, the prestigious job title — if we travel to breathtaking places or own beautiful things, only then will we be complete. But none of those things will ever offer you a guaranteed happiness. You will continue throughout your life making different choices that change the outcome of your circumstances. Throughout the ebb and flow of those experiences, you will encounter not just happiness and sadness, but also monotony and routine. Life itself, the day to day goings on of it all, even when you discover something new, will inevitably become boring. Contrary to popular belief, this isn’t some affliction that must be immediately remedied. It’s important to discern the difference between stagnation and restlessness. Because in the end, it is your choice whether or not you are content with your circumstances. Nothing outside you will grant you the peace you are looking for. I say all these things in no way to discount the autonomy we have to construct the substance of our lives. I mean to say, there is no point in focusing on material things or goals that you hope will grant you some eternal, permanent happiness — because it doesn’t exist.

There is no actual way to convey the complexity of life’s experiences through social media. Three years ago I ran away from a routine I grew to despise, what felt like the all-consuming mediocrity of an unfulfilling life — and to this day I have no regrets. But more than ever, life is an uneven road.

Just because you figure out what makes you happy doesn’t mean that you have it all figured out. Life is not as simple as finding your passion and then going out and doing it. We live in a world where the infrastructure of society requires you to be complicit in systems that perpetuate consumption, frivolity, and destruction — and reconciling this with needing to financially support oneself is no easy feat. It’s not about being able to over-idealistically “follow your dreams”, but having the freedom to live a meaningful life, one that creates more harmony than discord, more equity than inequality.

I do not live my life or make the choices I do because I have the utmost clarity that it is the right thing to do. I do them, because I don’t know what else to do, besides follow the intuition of my own heart. I still suffer from my own self-machinations, insecurities, and constant procrastination. But the greatest gift life has granted me, whether simply a consequence of age or through experiences I chose to have, is an understanding of myself. Even when I stray, when I become fixated on things that ultimately don’t matter, I remember what motivated the choices that brought me this far.

It was love. Love for the world, that it was worthwhile to go out and see it, to try and create change in it, even amongst fears that I’d lose time or was choosing the wrong path. Love for me, that I owed it to myself to try and do something that I at first didn’t know I was capable of.

My extended time in California has reminded me that I am anchored by a deep foundation of love, instilled in me by a family more resilient and nurturing than I’d ever realized. I have also rediscovered what it means to be emotionally vulnerable, and to share intimacy with another person again, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

So this is where I stand now, with all the acuity of self-awareness brought about by age, and yet still buoyed by a sense of childlike wonder for this world, and all that I continue to discover on my journey through it. I am on a path of becoming more in tune with myself, of trusting the people I love, of creating powerful intention with my words and my actions instead of passively experiencing a world that appears drowned in chaos.

Time will continue passing, the seasons will come and go — what matters is not what is left behind, but what you continue to create for yourself moving forward. I hope you remember you have the power to make the world better, by simply loving who you are, and not accepting the reality that others force you to believe. We are the makers of our own reality, we are the sole owners of our truth.

If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read all this.

fallacy

There’s a strange kind of fallacy,
about my sense of inadequacy,
that I have so much love
that I’d give away happily,
to everyone that I know,
until there’s none left,
But for some reason I struggle,
to give that love to myself.

It’s a bittersweet truth
we don’t want to have spoken,
like fears over promises
we risk having broken,
So we fold in our corners
to avoid being hurt,
and rely too much on others
to define our own worth.

We make ourselves sick
with insecurities and stress,
forget things about ourselves
we used to like best.
Losing sleep over questions
that we don’t have the answers,
like “Who are you really?”
and “What are you after?”

Drown in uncertainty
under the weight of decisions,
convinced that by choosing
there’s something else that we’re missing.
But you are more than the fears
that you see in the mirror,
you are a vision of love
that will start to get clearer.

Trusting your heart is at once never easy,
when we constantly struggle
to define our meaning,
But believe in the universe,
in its power and grace,
trust that your pieces will all fall into place.

Be at peace with the things
you thought would not change,
remove all your shadows
so only light will remain.
Our pasts do not own us,
we are not our mistakes,
All that matters
is who we choose to be today.

 

The real price of freedom

It is strangely fascinating
how much freedom we barter away
for the sake of
comfort and convenience
how easily we count up currencies
yet the conversion we care least about
is the cost of time

You are not your habits
or your attachments
your shiny objects
your wants
or your fears

I spent so much time
boxing myself into
an idea
of who I thought I was
and now here I am
trading in 8 years
worth of blackened lungs
for a breath of fresh air

When you actively decide
to change yourself
you realize that everyday of your life
is a choice
there is so much power
in the time you take back
to do what you really want
to be someone different
than who you were yesterday

 

I never thought I’d be writing about this for people to read, but it struck me as one of the few things I might actually write that would benefit someone reaching a similar crossroads. 17 days ago I smoked my last cigarette, and I believe it is the longest I’ve gone without one in, give or take, the last 8 years. For anyone that knows me, my relationship with tobacco is my longest and most committed. Hell, I obviously love them so much I included them in the title of my poetry book. Cigarettes were not just a “bad habit” for me, there was something ritualistic about it that I always loved — the moments I took for myself to be alone, to think, and to usually write. And no, I was never not aware of the health risks — people do worse things to themselves everyday — and I do believe we have the autonomy to make our own choices over our bodies.

But recent circumstances have reinforced the one thing I thought I knew all along: that it doesn’t matter how much money you have or how accomplished you are, if you don’t have your health, you literally have nothing. So no, this isn’t a New Years resolution or some patronizing PSA, though I’m sorry if it sounds like one. What I mean to bring attention to, is the concept of choice.

Making a commitment to lose weight or eat better or not smoke — and in an even more meaningful sense, when we make commitments to make more art, to be more outspoken, to get more in touch with ourselves — it is not about the actual intention you are setting forth, as much as the power of making that choice in the moment. Discipline isn’t about being hard on yourself, but realizing that as the creator of your own reality, we are actively choosing what we do, every moment of our lives. “Depriving” yourself of something you think you need, or something that has come to define an aspect of your life, is not easy. However, it is more feasible than we sometimes allow ourselves to believe.

On that note, I am actively interested in healing my relationship with tobacco, by educating myself on the history of it amongst indigenous peoples as plant medicine. Rather than abuse it, I would like to incorporate it into my life as a form of sacred cleansing and ritual. For friends who have information or contacts about this kind of practice, please forward whatever you can my way. As always, if you got this far, thanks for reading.

Living inside shame

It’s so much easier to encourage peace and happiness in others when you yourself are happy. Of course anyone can stand on a mountaintop in their proudest moments and speak the goodwill of the universe: that we truly live by finding harmony in the path binding itself to our feet.

But do we talk enough about what it’s like in the adverse circumstances, our least proud moments when trusting ourselves is most necessary, yet our self-doubt is stronger than ever? We talk so blithely about self-improvement to reach success, to work hard to be your best, to fulfill that blind ambition above all else — but at what cost?

Who are you really doing it for? Yourself? Or the audience that you think is watching you? We don’t talk enough about the shame and guilt we rack ourselves with, when we lose the motivation to lift ourselves up.

I find myself more lost than I have ever been, doubting the trajectory of the path I’ve chosen — mostly because in and of itself there has never been a “clear” path. The path only unfolds as I move forward, and yet sometimes I feel so paralyzed with indecision that I don’t know what else to do but lay down.

Breath deep. Close my eyes. Wait for it to pass.

Shame — how excruciatingly suffocating it can be. Mostly because it is self-inflicted, because I ridicule my own inflated sense of self-importance more than anything else. And hating yourself isn’t very conducive to moving forward. But I know this experience isn’t unique to me — we all inevitably go through it. The days where we don’t want to get out of bed, would rather hide our faces in our hair than sit through the long hours of the day. But I want to talk about it now, because maybe you’re going through it, too.

Our public moments of pride, where we excitedly proclaim our accomplishments and wave them like flags of honor in front of anyone who will watch — those are not the moments that define us. What truly defines you is whether you have the strength to look at yourself without any false pretense or ego, to ask yourself what you are most afraid of, to hold yourself accountable for your own happiness.

The single greatest excuse we make, the one that stops us from pursuing what we want, is when we tell ourselves that we aren’t good enough. This is the lie society will sell you, by telling you you need this many followers, and this many gadgets, this many friends, the right kind of job or the right kind of lover — because for some reason you on your own is not enough.

But believing this lie is the most insidious of falsehoods, in many ways because it is the one we’ve been conditioned to accept from birth.

So that is why I’m talking about it. Because if anything, there is nothing to lose in being honest with ourselves — because it is okay to feel shame, as long as we’re willing to dissect where it comes from, and are ready to do the hard work to come out of it on the other side.

What I’m interested in

I am not much interested in what someone has to say if it lacks nuance regarding perception as an individual experience. I am not much interested in what someone has to argue, if they are only expunging air to prove that they are right. I am not much interested in what you have to say on the internet, in how much of your identity is quantified by taps and likes, measured in impressions, or predicted by algorithms. I am not much interested in provoked outrage, in someone’s right opinion, in unimaginative disdain.

I am not much interested in much these days, except:

How bright and beautiful the sunrise still looks everyday, even from the inside of a hospital waiting room. The strange whoosh of air from a ventilator machine, how it can transform from something first heard in a nightmare to a strange rhythmic lullaby, the cadence of a heartbeat still moving blood through a loved one’s veins. I am more interested in how to make myself more capable of loving, even to the point of exhaustion. Because there is no such thing as loving enough — loving the world, loving myself, loving the people that matter most me. I do not know if humans alone are capable of miracles, but I am not much interested in that, since life itself is a miracle. So I suppose there isn’t very much I am interested in, besides the healing power of love, the love we have within ourselves, both for ourselves, and for one another. I don’t really care these days to have space for much else.

flower envy

I envy flowers
whose only purpose is
to grow and bloom.
But is that not what I,
have been birthed here to do?
What made me this way?
Intolerably complex,
taking for granted
the simple happinesses that
life has afforded me.

Why not blossom,
into the best version of myself?
For the soil is fertile,
and the love is plentiful,
in my heart
& in the souls of those
who love me

Do not falter
at the cusp of becoming.
The trees cannot ask
the wind to stop blowing,
just as I am mistaken
to try and hinder the flow of time.
The same force that crashes waves,
upon the shore,
beats the blood that flows in my veins,
transforms the air I breath
into oxygen
— just so I may wake up to see another day.

Do not forsake the one body I’ve been gifted,
to grow and bloom in,
Do not forsake the one life,
I have been given to love,
there is no past or future,
Only this moment that I am breathing in,
With so much life left to live,
it would be a shame to forget that now.

above the coast

I woke up on a plane above the California coast,
a memory of who I was waiting for me like a ghost,
I have shed my skin like spring,
learned not to count this as a loss,
discovered moving forward
is always worth the cost.

I have learned how to unearth secrets,
that are stored within my soul,
learned that living in my solitude,
could make me feel more whole.

Learned how to fall in love with strangers,
for brief moments in my life,
the serendipity we shared
will stay suspended now in time.
I have crossed many oceans,
in search of myself,
climbed through the mountains,
to know truth in what I felt.

What has it meant for me,
to go out in search of meaning?
Savoring the seconds
in every new beginning?

Because life is just a cycle,
of lessons we repeat,
from when we’re born,
in different forms,
until the karma is complete.

So pay attention to the details,
because it’s not always the same,
synchronicities that guide you back the way you came.

The universe will take you,
exactly where you need to go,
combined with fate, which we create,
is all we need to know.
So here I am now,
having reached this journey’s end,
a resurrected soul ready to live her life again.