I wear my soul a bit more on the sleeve than most. I’ve been this way all my life. When I was young I thought I was flawed. I felt different. I was different. Still am. Only now, I see the beauty inherent to my peculiar makings. When little I wanted to fit in. Now, I hope to never fit into any mold made by man. God knew I needed to be the person I am, just as I am, to carry out my intended work. I believe this for me. And I believe this for you.
With every day that passes, I dust another layer of mind-interference away from my true self. Discovering me is like an excavation; one that has required a lifetime. I’m still unearthing aspects that until now, were hidden.
Sometimes after having chiseled away a hardened belief that no longer serves me, I discover a fear I hadn’t seen before. I no longer sit and view these findings as evidence of faultiness. I don’t believe we are, at our core, faulty. I view the fears within me as sensitivities requiring my attention and nurturing hand; much like a child that needs a bit more help than its confident sibling. Uncovering a bit of fear, insecurity or doubt is not proof of imperfection. It’s proof of my evolving. All of these things rest within. It’s simply up to us as to whether we bring them to light, where we can better examine them, and see them more clearly. Things that are smothered tend to stir more than those freely allowed to breathe. Or so it is with me.
The me that I brought to light a year ago is only a fraction of the me that is writing to you now. From my earliest days I was able to see this deeper version of myself. It was never completely hidden. There it sat like the tip of a stone jutting from the dirt. Except for most of my life, I saw it as a hindrance. Something upon which I’d often stub my toe. But then one day, I decided to dig.
When all was said and done I wanted to know who I was. I wanted to connect with the deepest parts of me. And as with any deep unearthing, I extracted the broken bones from my past; doing so was a must as they sat atop my greatest treasures. I cried at the sight of both. I don’t believe we’re required to be perfect. If so, then we are perfect just as we are – today – whether in a state of joy, fear, longing or contented. I’m no more perfect today than I was a year ago. I love me now, and I loved me then. The difference being, the more I unearthed, the more there was to accept and choose to love. I had to find the courage to love my many broken bones. Now I display the broken pieces from my past along side that which sparkles. Both have the ability to shine under the sun. It’s up to me to dust them off, and place them there. The sun can’t shine upon those things left buried.
I will be an excavator of me upon my final days. Upon my lips will rest the residual echoes of sweet sincerity from one surprising discovery after another. If there is such a thing as fault, then let that fault be when I didn’t have the courage to get my hands dirty; when I chose not to fall onto my knees and dig within – and not with those things I brought to light. I feel lighter with less things buried. One needs to lighten what’s on their chest if they are to breathe. And so with that I dig.