When I was younger, I had five, yes FIVE, imaginary friends. They weren't necessarily the best playmates (because they weren't real, duh!) but I would write about the great adventures we would have together. As a group of friends goes, we got along amazingly well. We belonged together. , Who would ever want to write the story where they are the outsider? Even Nancy Drew has her trusty besties at her side. In life, however, there is no script. Life is not fair, and things don't always make sense.
Every group it seems has its key players. There's the "glue," that person that makes everyone stick together. There's the funny one. The responsible one. The smart one. Of course somewhere squeezed in there is the rebel. All of them together make sense. Like an orchestra where each instrument works in harmony with one another. Separately they have their own jobs, they make their own music, but together they are powerful and overwhelmingly in accord and absolutely beautiful.
Then, there is oftentimes the outsider. The one who doesn't quite belong; think octagon trying to squeeze into the hexagon shape. In an orchestra it's like the unusual instruments that do not normally appear, like a contrabassoon.
When I write, I write what I know. Right now, I know moving. I know starting over. From the depths of my soul, I know being new. I know not belonging. It's hard- this being new. It requires stamina, and the ability to try and try again. It requires a lot of breathing. And stretching.
These moments, these moments of not belonging, are the moments when my friend, Uncertainty, arrives and settles in for a visit. She is comfortable with me, no matter where I have lived or gone she often comes with. She'll show up late. Leave early. We know each other well. There is not necessarily a rhyme or reason as to why she visits when she does. Sometimes I usher her out in a most terrible-hostess sort of a way. I shoo-shoo her ideas and notions. This has become more common- the dismissal of her attempt at intruding. I have become less willing to accept her visits the more I learn about myself. But there are times, like today, I pass her some hot chocolate and the TV changer and curl up beside on the couch and determine that maybe a little break is in order. Uncertainty knows me so well.
One day my friendship with Uncertainty will be dissolved in total. One day, and I look forward to this day, the contrabassoon will have its place in an orchestra of distinguished peers. One day, the octagon won't need to be a hexagon. One day I will belong in total to myself, with my own spot in my own mind and my own heart, knowing fully that wherever I am, I belong. One day.
One day.
Every group it seems has its key players. There's the "glue," that person that makes everyone stick together. There's the funny one. The responsible one. The smart one. Of course somewhere squeezed in there is the rebel. All of them together make sense. Like an orchestra where each instrument works in harmony with one another. Separately they have their own jobs, they make their own music, but together they are powerful and overwhelmingly in accord and absolutely beautiful.
Then, there is oftentimes the outsider. The one who doesn't quite belong; think octagon trying to squeeze into the hexagon shape. In an orchestra it's like the unusual instruments that do not normally appear, like a contrabassoon.
When I write, I write what I know. Right now, I know moving. I know starting over. From the depths of my soul, I know being new. I know not belonging. It's hard- this being new. It requires stamina, and the ability to try and try again. It requires a lot of breathing. And stretching.
These moments, these moments of not belonging, are the moments when my friend, Uncertainty, arrives and settles in for a visit. She is comfortable with me, no matter where I have lived or gone she often comes with. She'll show up late. Leave early. We know each other well. There is not necessarily a rhyme or reason as to why she visits when she does. Sometimes I usher her out in a most terrible-hostess sort of a way. I shoo-shoo her ideas and notions. This has become more common- the dismissal of her attempt at intruding. I have become less willing to accept her visits the more I learn about myself. But there are times, like today, I pass her some hot chocolate and the TV changer and curl up beside on the couch and determine that maybe a little break is in order. Uncertainty knows me so well.
One day my friendship with Uncertainty will be dissolved in total. One day, and I look forward to this day, the contrabassoon will have its place in an orchestra of distinguished peers. One day, the octagon won't need to be a hexagon. One day I will belong in total to myself, with my own spot in my own mind and my own heart, knowing fully that wherever I am, I belong. One day.
One day.
1 comment:
Excellent post. except I'm pretty sure Uncertainty is guy that always tells me to not try that, because I don't know if it will work... or don't try this because it will surely fail... but you are right I need to try harder to "usher" him out when he shows up.
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