Glorious

I play the same song on repeat.

Macklemore, Glorious.

I play it so loud my doors shake with the bass.

I yell along with the lyrics,

But can’t hear myself scream

Over the refrain.

In my car, I could escape.

I don’t, I can’t- where to?

Surrounded by mountains, oceans,

The America above me and America below me.

So I drive home.

But on the way, all I hear

Is Glorious.

If only all I could hear

Was Glorious all day.

If only I could drown out

The rest of the refrains.

Shit, drama and pain,

Rinse, refrain, repeat.

If only, if only

The one single in the disc drive

Was Glorious. 

Trigger Warning: Family

Secrets cycle through, generation to generation,

At first, lost in the last rays of dusk,

Awash in white light and then consumed by the rising darkness.

But then, with the first orange glows of dawn

Secrets cycle back down to the next of the kin.

They were secrets for a reason.

Ugly, unbecoming of good southern folk.

Uncomfortable to tell, more uncomfortable yet to receive.

Words come in short breaths, ears hang on to every syllable,

Desperately seeking the ultimate gift: answers.

Answers for the sobbing 16 year old.

Answers for the lost 24 year old.

Answers for the lonely 30 year old.

A sense of understanding for the woman standing before you.

So many whys answered in brief half-truths.

So many hours wasted in contemplation,

Only to, at long last, have the cycle of secrets circle back.

Finally. Understanding.

Acceptance will come, not today, or tomorrow.

And the secrets will stay secrets, lost again

To the rising darkness of the night,

Until the morning of the next generation

Begins its ascent over the horizon. 

New Orleans, My Old Friend

New Orleans you

Are a blessing

And a curse.

You with your beads

Stuck in my heel.

Your jazz

Forever in my ear.

No, I said.

Leave me in peace.

Let me live my life impervious

To your

Free. Love. Booze. Swing. Thing.

Let me keep

The straight and the narrow.

Let me live my life unchallenged

By your sweet bayou sway.

Sweet Jesus, show me your mercy.

Take this Cajun drum beat sweet rhythm heat

Off of my brain.

Good lord, show me your grace.

Take from me these Creole love sweat swaying toe-tappin feet.

I have lost my way entirely.

Because you, New Orleans, wrecked my plans

So well made

For a life unfettered by change.

If you take me, take me whole.

Drown me in the Pontchartrain.

Smother me with Spanish moss.

Take me down with a pair of dueling pianos

And a round of purple haze.

I cannot defeat you,

God knows how I've tried.

You've cast your hook into me,

For years now I've writhed,

On your hook, your unyielding line.

Pull me in, I'm done resisting.

I am ready, reel me in.

You are the curse that once betrayed me,

Now be the force that won't forsake me.

Soul Searchers

There are a good many of us soul searchers in our 30’s. My guess is that few of us thought we’d be there by now. At 21 we had it all. figured. out. Career plans. Family plans. Retirement plans (at least we thought about opening retirement accounts). All the plans intersected at 30, the point at which we would have all our plans realized and be on the smooth path towards a life lived well.

I’m 33 and I had Nutella straight out of the jar with a spoon for breakfast yesterday. I have not figured it all out. I will, with cautious optimism, say that I have about 30% figured out, with the remaining 70% residing between cluelessness and I’ll figure it out….later. Furthermore, I have no magic intersection age at which I plan to have the other 70% worked out. Certainly not 40, that’s in seven short years, and I’ve noticed the older I get the faster time goes, so seven years is practically the blink of an eye. If I was still 21, this lack of urgency and certainly would cause me great mental anguish and probably constipation. Lucky for me and my bowels, I am 33 and fully embrace my place. I am a soul searcher in my 30’s, and like I said, I have it on good authority there are many of us yet out there.

Make no mistake though- we are not a type. We are not all married or single, childless or with child(ren). Employed, unemployed, gay, straight or bi. Just because I fake tan doesn’t mean I’m lost. I just might like not being pale all the time. Just because I am single doesn’t mean I am looking and just because I am married doesn’t mean I’ve settled. There’s just something about being more seasoned that gives one the permission to be untethered. Experience forgives us if we choose not to commit to a certain course of action, or to change direction if the wind moves us. At 21, an uncertain future was the enemy. Now, I feel that an uncertain future is merely a blank page, with endless possibility. Perhaps the page will be filled with words of sorrow, or colors dark and boding. But with any luck, there will be another blank page after that, and another after that. A life long lived is a book full of all the colors and stories, fantastic and woeful. Why, at 21, in the very beginning, was I so eager to have my book already written?

My fellow 30’s soul searchers, hold your Nutella jars up high with pride! We are in the zone! Tethered by our past choices yet with a long untethered life before us- there are many pages of our books still unwritten. Embrace your search, with all it’s colors. Yes, we have more responsibilities now, and yes, adulting often sucks. But, the search is on, and there is so much yet to come. So much yet to discover and embrace. So much to figure out, or to leave for another time….later. Embrace your search in all it’s uncertainly, and give zero fucks about what you eat for breakfast. 

Vincible

The power comes in waves. Triumphant, 
with the windows down and music loud. 

Later, alone, with the rain for company,
All is quiet, and so much heavier.

I'd welcome a middle ground:
Rain, with a bit of song.
Windows down, ears filled with only wind.
Power laced with mortality.
Power tempered by prudence.

Strength in vulnerability.
Answers whispered before the questions
are even asked.