We Were Made for the Infinite
My birthday is always very strange for me. Each year as it approaches, I get hard on myself, down that I’m never where I want to be in my life. This has been especially true this year (today). Yesterday, for my birthday, I attended my first open mic event at the Lighthouse Writers Lit Fest and read an excerpt from one of the chapters in my memoir. I thought I might chicken out and run, but I didn’t. Though my voice was shaky at first, I stayed and read, even receiving applause and positive accolades after.
Being immersed in a community of other writers and creatives, also putting themselves out there, felt like a golden, vibrant energy. After it ended and I got back in my car, I felt upset that I hadn’t spoken to anyone and made the most of the event, rolling my eyes at my own introversion. And then I realized that, perhaps for the first time in my life, I am finally living authentically. I am writing. Not only am I writing, but I am sharing it with perfect strangers in a collective of mutually supportive, creative energy. I realized that, perhaps for the first time ever, I'm happy about where I'm today, and that creating our realities is a process—we start somewhere, and this is where I’m starting.
That this is part of it, the journey is the story. I realized that spirit, divine energy, is expansive in nature, and we will always be left wanting more; nothing will be enough, and that is good. It allows us to continue expanding and reaching new heights. I realized I may never really be content with where I am in my life on my birthdays, but as long as I am focused on myself, honoring myself authentically, giving of myself to others, and to myself gifts I know I truly and deeply want, I am exactly where I want to be.
This piece was originally featured in a June 15, 2019 post on Instagram.
