J’ai le coeur reveur by Lucia Carriero – http://nonnetta.deviantart.com/
I dearly love Lucia’s work! It is delicate, beautiful, imaginative, and heartfelt. I honestly wish I could own a print of every one of her works; I’d plaster my house with them. ^_^ This piece is one of my favorites and rather apropos of my mindset this week.
Vulnerability alert! Last night, my husband asked me an innocent question: “What is your dream?” As I sat there and thought, I found myself bursting into tears. I cried. Oh, how I cried. As I thought, I couldn’t find anything that fit what I would call a “dream”.
When I was a little girl, I dreamt of being a teacher. I have done that, in some way, shape, or form, from age 16 to age 29.
When I was older, I dreamt of writing and being published. I have done that. (Though I have never quite been so Jo March to declare, “I shall write great books and make barrels of money.”)
I dreamt of finding deep, understanding love and partnership. I have found it.
I dreamt of holding a child in my arms. I do.
Yet, now, at almost 32 years of age, I do not know what my next dream is, what my next step or my next path in life is. And so I cried for a long time last night. It was a despairing cry; one never wants to think that they are dreamless. Soon, Elizabeth will be old enough for preschool and I will be back to work, but what work? Shall I return to the classroom, shall I search for a position in a library, or shall I try to step into something entirely new? I do not know and not knowing scares me.
It has also been suggested to me that I could make money from my writing. That is also an idea that frightens me, although I know it can be done. It would be a step of faith, a step of courage, one that would lead to some of the hardest work I’ve ever done and perhaps some of the rewarding work I have ever done. However, I’m not sure it is one that my family can afford, with what we are planning for/needing to be done in the future. Not as a sole method of breadwinning, that is. But…could it still be worth a try?
Ben asked me another poignant question then (it was truly the night for them): “Why do you write?” And so I answered honestly, perhaps the most honestly I ever have. I write so that there will be evidence that I existed. I write so that there will be a record that I lived, breathed, felt, thought, learned, created. However selfish it may sound, I write so that there will be proof of me. And maybe, just maybe, someone will find comfort, help, or encouragement from what I have experienced and shared. I did find something that I said in reply to him a touch curious, though. I told him that I do what I do in life because I feel as though they are what I must do. I write, share, post, sing, dance, and talk but I have not necessarily looked at those things as “dreams”. They are just a part of who I am.
Then Ben asked me if I had talked to God about it. When was the last time I asked Him for a new dream? I couldn’t answer, which was an answer in and of itself. And so, in the midst of my tears and clutching of my husband’s hand, I did what I should have done in the first place: I prayed. I thanked God for the dreams He has helped me to achieve and told Him of the despair I was feeling at the thought of not having a dream to aspire to, a path to set foot on. My heart cried out and I asked Him for a dream, for guidance, for light. I know and trust that He will be true to His word as I seek His dream for me. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. (Jeremiah 29:11 NIV)
So I shall continue to pray and quieten my heart continue to listen as I look, hope, wait for, and walk towards a new dream.
I sit with my daughter in my lap as she indulges in some Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood. As she sits quietly (a rare occurrence in and of itself), I take advantage of the opportunity to wrap her lovely pigtail curl around my finger and find myself once again mesmerized as I twirl it again and again and again.
Her hair is soft and glossy and smooth, as soothing as silk as I coil it around my finger. As I do and the curl tightens, I find myself marveling at it. It almost looks like an ombre candy cane, composed of shades of brown sugar and sable, though it is also shot through with bright copper and even honeyed blonde in some spots.
Her hair is smooth like her father’s but also curly like mine naturally is. She gets the shades of brown with red highlights from us both, but the shot of blonde is her father’s, as are her long eyelashes. We deal with the snaggles and tangles and she hates every minute of me combing them out of her hair. When her hair is loose, it is curly and fun and wild; when it is combed into pigtails or a ponytail, it is cute and coquettish. Either way and both, she is brilliantly lovely and I am constantly fascinated by the work of art that is my daughter’s hair. It is beautiful and unique and perfectly suited to her sunshiny, smiling face.
I dream of what that hair will be like some day, falling over her shoulders in abundant, glossy curls that bounce, the most superlative physical complement to my girl’s own buoyant spirit.
Also posted on The Well Written Woman – “I Walk”
I walk like I own the whole world.
My hips move clouds,
My breath guiding them along,
And water springs where my heels pierce the earth.
I walk like the world is mine to hold.
My steps ring confidence’s battle cry, thrumming wildly in its echoes.
I am a lioness, fierce as hell
But softer than gossamer.
My hands are made of fire,
To light and warm, to smelt and refine,
Though never to harm.
I walk like I own the whole damn world,
Because, right now, I really do.
= = = = =
Several weeks ago, as I walked into a store, I felt strong, confident, and fierce. And these words fluttered and tumbled around in my brain, refusing to leave until they were given a voice. I will admit, sometimes I really like it when that happens.
So, today, I did something that absolutely terrified me. I posted some Tweets, three of them actually. Last night, as I lay awake in bed after getting my daughter a drink and settling her back down, I felt a nudge in my back/brain/gut/heart/whatever you want to call it. Ben and I spoke last night about just how heartbroken we feel that people are calling for boycotts of our state. According to the 2014 census, there are roughly 6.597 million people living in the state of Indiana. I understand bold and strong action for what you believe in but how can rally for non-discrimination by calling for the shunning and isolation of an entire state? It just doesn’t compute in my head. It just doesn’t make sense to me.
So, in the middle of the night, I felt that nudge, that insistence to do something, say something. And I had phrases, sentences coalescing in my head, even a hashtag. But I was afraid. I was scared. Terrified. I’ve been watching. I’ve been listening. I was scared about being bold. So I prayed. I laid there in bed and I asked God about it specifically. I asked that, if this was really something I was supposed to do, for it to not let me go. And it didn’t. It didn’t let me go. If anything else, the nudge became more and more urgent, insistent. This was something I had to do, that I needed to do.
I wasn’t been sure, though. Just how many of these thoughts was I to send out into the world, tagged #GiveIndianaGrace? I didn’t know. I also knew thatI wouldn’t know until I began. So I started. I posted one tweet. And then another. And then another. And to say that I waited with fear and trembling would have been accurate, still sort of am, honestly. But, after those three tweets, the urgency lessened and I felt that I was done. I had done what I needed to do. I do not necessarily know why I had to do it, why it had to be me. But I did it, and whatever the result(s) of those tweets will be, it is out of my hands.
I’m not a bold person, at least I don’t consider myself to be. This was way outside of my comfort zone but, as they say, that’s where the growth happens, yes?
What I did not choose:
My birth
My parentage
My skin color
The place I was raised in
The language I grew up speaking
What I did choose:
My faith
My education
My future
My partner and helpmeet
My family
My home
My tribe
My dreams
My child
What I will continue to choose:
To hope
To believe
To listen
To hug
To encourage
To pray
To sing
To write
To smile
To dance
To learn
To support
To love
Dear World,
I wish you could see what I see.
I wish you could see the beautiful little two-year-old girl twirling in the midst of my living room in her pretty spring dress, church shoes, and winter coat.
I wish you could see the spring sunlight as the rays filter through my living room window and fill my home with light.
I wish you could see my little family at baby’s bedtime, prayers and I love you’s and kisses all round.
I wish you could see the little moments of joy threaded throughout my day. But, even more so, I wish for you to see the ones threaded throughout yours.
Love, Me
Muncie Gras 2008
Late last night, I performed at an annual event called Muncie Gras. Yep, it’s Muncie’s version of Mardi Gras. For those of you who don’t know or are new to this particular blog, I have an alias: Vaskha. I began belly dancing in 2007 and I took the performance name when I joined Carenza Bint Asya’s student troupe, Mashallah, later that year.
The first time I belly danced at Muncie Gras was 2008. It was 30 degrees or lower outside, the snow from earlier in the week had melted off but there was still mud and muck about. Our stage was an open, rug-covered, raised platform in the middle of Walnut Street, which was transformed into Bourbon Street for this one night. It was cold, but it was fun, out there with all of my girls. I was there all night and it was a great time.
For several years, belly dance was my primary hobby. I was in classes/practices five hours a week, daily practices and conditioning at home (I had a chart with stickers/stamps and everything), and performances or workshops several weekends a month. As the years have gone by, my life has changed and I am no longer as deep into belly dance as I was. I’ve had a daughter and gotten involved in other hobbies, which, as a result, has seen my presence and involvement in the belly dance community wane. I don’t perform with a troupe any more. I still take classes when my schedule permits and perform with those classes when I can, but that amounts to maybe one or two performances a year. And now I am taking classes from my former class- and troupe-mates. Yallah to them, by the way, for achieving their dance goals!
So, last night, I returned to Muncie Gras for the…fourth time, I think. Carenza is one of the kindest souls and asked if I would perform at her stage this year. I have to admit that I was flattered, extremely so. To say that I think of myself as rusty after two years of less-than-regular practice and learning would be putting it politely. Right after Christmas, I started working out again and I have come to enjoy skipping out to Planet Fitness to run on the elliptical, either with my friend or on my own. But I digress.
While I still enjoy performing…something has changed. I can always feel it and it’s there like a weight in my chest. I am not part of the community anymore. Because of life and money responsibilities, I don’t get to attend the workshops, conventions, or galas with any frequency any longer. Therefore, I do not spend any substantial time with the ladies with whom I practiced this beautiful art. So when I do attend or perform now, I often feel like an outsider. Total honesty here. I am far more comfortable performing on my own at a larp game or when just dancing with my friends than I am at a hafla or show. I feel freer then. It’s a little difficult to explain. I know that the women that I dance with are kind, beautiful, loving souls, but the truth is that I haven’t heartily enjoyed any performances over the past few years because I do feel so displaced. The belly dance community is one of the most beautiful and accepting ones that I have ever been a part of and I am truly glad that I was able to be a part of it for a few years and that I can still take classes to practice this art of beauty and grace and power.
As a friend put it when we discussed this, it is hard growing up sometimes and growing into new things and new places. I still enjoy dancing, it still makes me feel beautiful and graceful, and the classes still challenge and condition me. But I know that some aspects of it just aren’t as fun for me anymore, and that’s OK. We all grow, we all move on, we find new hobbies and new joys, but it doesn’t mean that we can’t enjoy what was once a huge part of our lives.
Muncie Gras 2010
So thank you, Carenza, Zhenna, Ja’Niesa, Liz von Moxie, and Ariellah, for being my inspirations as well as my teachers. Thank you to all of my belly dance sisters. Thank you for all that you have taught me and continue to teach me about accepting myself and others, challenging my body and my mind, and revelling in my own beauty. Thank you for always reminding me that I am beautiful and that, if nothing else works, I can just shimmy it out.
PS. To clarify, this doesn’t mean I’m giving up belly dancing. Far from it. I am just being honest about how I have changed and feel eight years down the road. I still enjoy belly dance, love to take classes, and have a great time dancing with my friends. That has not changed and I don’t think it ever will.
I believe in good when my daughter wants me to sit with her while she colors, just because she wants me there.
It’s still strange when I touch my cesarean scar two years later. It feels like a coil of rope embedded in my skin, worn smooth at its smiling edges.
That moment when your heart is racing and you don’t know why or what emotion is prompting it: one of the scariest ones in my life.
“[R]ules might give us some order but love and grace make life worth living.” – Sheila Walsh
So today is one of my favorite days of the year: the International Day of Happiness. What is the International Day of Happiness, you ask? Well, I shall let them tell you, direct from their own website:
March 20 has been established as the annual International Day of Happiness and all 193 United Nations member states have adopted a resolution calling for happiness to be given greater priority. First ever UN conference on Happiness and wellbeing
In 2011, the UN General Assembly adopted a resolution which recognised happiness as a “fundamental human goal” and called for “a more inclusive, equitable and balanced approach to economic growth that promotes the happiness and well-being of all peoples”.
In 2012, the first ever UN conference on Happiness took place and the UN General Assembly adopted a resolution which decreed that the International Day of Happiness would be observed every year on 20 March. It was celebrated for the first time in 2013.
I love any holiday that gives me an (extra) excuse to do stuff for friends, family, and neighbors or to remind them of how glad I am that they are in my life. I think, sometimes, we forget that, while we can choose to be happy in our own lives, we can also contribute to the happiness of others. Sometimes, we have no idea just how much a kind word, thoughtful gesture, or a little bit of help can change or be an uplift to someone’s day. I was personally reminded of this the other day amidst a ginormous conniption fit by my daughter in the middle of a restaurant, and I am deeply thankful to those who shared the happy with their kindness.
So, today, I want to thank you – yes, you, the persons reading this – for stopping by and giving my blog a perusal. I appreciate your consideration of my writing; it means a great deal. And I wish you a day full of unexpected miracles and little happinesses. Now, go share the happy.
MWGS: Mom, Writer, Geek, Superwoman 