I am finding myself again. Where are you? It’s been a wild year of twists and turns, and it’s left be standing on the footpath of a bridge. Is it made of fear or optimism? Hope or regret? That can be hard to tell, depending on the angle of light and where it falls at any moment. Either way, it has left me on the doorstep of a question.
Who do I want to be?
It’s a question I’ve had to answer half a dozen times since my world turned upside down in 2017. My mother was dead. I was unemployed, recovering from surgery, and lower than I had ever been in my life. Who did I want to be? The choice was easy. Bloom or die. Sink or swim. Figure it out or get lost again.
It feels like I have come to that crossroads again.
Who do I want to be? Perhaps the better question is who am I willing to be? It takes a lot of effort to become someone new. We don’t just slide into their skin like an old coat. Their new mannerisms don’t come naturally to us. We learn to be someone else over time. We do it slowly, piecing together pieces of their lives even while we transcend our own.
The old me opened the door. This new me faces those same doors closed.
What will it be? Will I keep moving forward? Will I kick down the doors? Demand space at the table? Make room for myself? Force something that doesn’t seem to fit?
The choice doesn’t seem as clear as it did four years ago, though the urgency is great.
It’s a rhythm. A throbbing pace that I struggle to keep up with.
Who? Who? Who? It beats a frantic pattern in my mind and possesses my every waking moment. Who? Who? Who?
I find the answers in the pictures that I paint. In the poetry I craft. I find it in the solace of an afternoon spent playwriting. A day spent walking my dog through the park, rewarding myself for the hard-fought journey with a coffee from my favorite coffee shop. (The one tucked into the ground floor space of an old castle.)
I am incredibly lucky, I think to myself as feet cross over paths that my ancestors would have weeped to trod.
I am lucky.
That is the heartbeat at the core of it all. Lucky to have this heart. Lucky to still hear the song of the universe when I close my eyes at night, swing into the stars, and disappear into a fantasy of cosmic bliss.
I am lucky to have art and love. Friends my heart can nestle by. The countryside that holds me. Fresh air to breathe and food in my belly. I am lucky. And while I become a chrysalis of catalyzed transformation, I let myself hold on to that torch.
Survivor. Artist. Citizen of the world. You are a piece of the puzzle and a representation of infinite love in all its complex forms.
When I have these thoughts, I see it. I know.
Who I am. Who I becoming. Who I will one day be.
So the only question that remains is…who are you?
© E.B. Johnson 2024
I’m a writer, artist, coach, and podcaster with a penchant for fresh bread and an addiction to all things historical. To learn more about me, click here. To support my writing, please click the button below to subscribe.