29 September 2010

The Awakening.

"Perhaps it is better to wake up after all, even to suffer, rather than to remain a dupe to illusions all one's life."  -Kate Chopin, The Awakening

I'm not entirely sure how The Awakening has evaded me all these years, but I am a firm believer that the books that fall into my lap fall there at the right time and place.  So here I am, after that last post about realizing I'm a people person, becoming aware and awakened about the kind of person I am in this universe.  Little inalienable Truths about myself are leaking out more and more these days, harsh realities that sting and tinge my eyes and heart, giving me a slumped stature.  While these things hurt, they also cleanse and brighten parts of my life that I've always wondered about, always wanted to know about.

It's strange being in a world so big, trying to go to college and learn so much, and realizing that I know so little about my own self.  I thought I had all this figured out a long, long time ago--I remember the moment when this awakening first began.  I was 17, dragging myself through my crowded high school parking lot looking aimlessly for my car, dropping my keys on the ground and almost getting hit by a car.  It was then that I lost it, getting behind the wheel of my old Mercedes, screaming into the driver's side mirror at myself, "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU AND WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?"  I began this journey within--through heavy prayer, meditation, drinking lots of alcohol, smoking a lot of weed, reading everything I could get my hands on, moving away from home, moving back home, practicing yoga, reaching out to people that I trusted, and writing like a motherfucker.  I was obviously unaware that it would take years to find myself in the same place--a different car and different latitude--demanding the same answers from myself.  I love how these things happen, how I thought I had it all figured out, and now I'm back to square one, but now I'm older and heavier than I once was.

So here I am back on this road, trying to find myself.  A friend of mine (a very eccentric friend), once told me: "Trying to find your identity is like trying to find your lost dog.  You realize it's missing and you search every block in your neighborhood.  You can't find him in the most obvious places--parks, neighbor's backyards--so you look places you're sure he won't be, just in case he could fit underneath a house or up in a squirrel's nest.  You make flyers, posting them everywhere; everyone you come across knows you're searching for your lost dog.  After exhausting every attempt, you come home defeated, sitting on your front porch.  You realize you can't do anything else.  You take a nap.  And that's when you wake up to the feel of him licking your hand...it was he that came back to find you."

I don't know why her story has always stuck with me, but I treasure it in times like these, where I set out on a Tuesday night to find myself in a bar, or in a man, or amongst friends at a table, wondering if these are the right places, if I'll know the right place when I find it, and what the hell I'm doing wrong.
Namaste, dear friends. 

1 comment :

  1. I do this all the time, sweets. You are not alone. I've recently come to the even bigger question of "Is the fact that I don't know who I am or what I am doing causing my husband to fall down the same trap door?" I remember falling in love with this beautifully determined man with a dream and a passion. But these days he is too busy holding my head up to know what he is after in this life. Its all confusing. But remember who made you and that its always a journey. If it wasn't....where would we all go?

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