|Hop over to check out how Crystal celebrated Cinco de Mayo today!|
I have a little cupboard in my heart. It holds more things than one might expect for such a small heart-sized cupboard. Bits and pieces of my childhood, a long list of angst filled days from my teenage years, the last remnants of bruises from my first marriage (I told you that was a story for another day), regrets from my children's younger years that still sting fresh as a jellyfish wound, and a plethora of memories I don't want to remember but can't seem to shake loose.
Tonight in class we read our Journey poems. You know, the one inspired by Cavafy's Ithaka. The one that reminds me of Gaiman's Instructions. And more recently, the one so very much like Mary Oliver's The Journey. When I started writing mine, it was a bit melancholy. The words poured out, focused on the past, as if miniature demons were dancing my pen across the paper, refusing to let me look forward. They were angry, grumbling words.
Not the words I wanted to use to honor my journey. Sure, it's been a rough one. But whose hasn't? Midway through writing, I heard the words of someone who recently said to me, "You have so much stress in your life."
She'd been reading my blog. Perhaps she'll read this. If so -- thank you, your words reminded me of my small heart-sized cupboard, the one that stores up all the aches and pains I've accumulated through the years. And because of that, I changed my poem.
Perhaps it will change my journey, as well.
So I decided to focus on the changes I've made, the positivity I embrace every day, the focus I place in attempting to stay in the moment, to live right where I am -- no turbulent past, no worrisome future. I threw open that cupboard door and let all the regrets and drama tumble out and wash away.
I'm pleased with how the poem turned out. My classmates seemed to enjoy it; they said they could see the path I wrote about, feel the grass beneath their feet. They likened it to Whitman and Frost, which is a compliment I'll take any day.
I'm reminded that my one little word for this year is light. And lately -- between my first semester in school, the upcoming trip in July, the decision to step back from areas in my life that don't quite fit, and a few other odds and ends -- I do feel lighter.
Released. (Which, funny enough, was my word for 2013.)
So here's to the journey, wherever it may take you. Here's to letting go of the things hiding in the cupboard, those shoddy little things you don't want anyone to see. Let it all out -- throw it all into the air and say goodbye.
And then go out and live your life, unapologetically. Perhaps, like Whitman, you can then sound your "barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world."