These Two Hands are Enough
Turned 36, and continue to turn, to ripen. Life is rich and full. Too full sometimes as I tend to over-book. But as with all that is worthy, one must examine the perimeters, the extremes.
I am on the fence about the whole next part of this life. Where to go from here, in dance, in love? What is priority? What remains that needs shedding? What do I need to reclaim?
I get caught up in this quest(ion)ing, and then life throws me a simple surprise, like the serenade the other night by two hands and a guitar.
I wrestle with my free will, with my ability to absolutely do whatever I want. It is terrifying, like jumping off a cliff. I want, on the one hand, to shackle myself to any available surface, to cling tight, to shut my eyes against the oncoming ocean waves of salt. The other hand wants to be brave. A tiny, flickering part of me wants/needs to utterly let go, to fall, to fly, to reunite with the fearless (dancer) that is in here somewhere, to fail.
Two hands and a guitar. Perhaps that’s the closest metaphor to what I’m feeling. The right hand plucks and strums, is slightly longer-nailed out of necessity. The left is most beautiful in its seeking, knowing precision, hitting (almost) all the right notes, pressing strings against the neck. A gift. Two hands, expressively different, unique, yet aiming for the same lofty goal of sharing.
I try to let go even as I hang on, to strum and pluck even as I strike a chord and let it melt away with my eyes closed. It seems to be the way of it, this duality, these extremes existing simultaneously. I balance cling with release, safety with a razor-edge of danger and risk, my right hand with my left, the coordination of bravery. Some days it comes down to regaining comfort in my own skin. Others it’s about sitting in a doctor’s office and not melting down.
I renew my goal to be open to the potential of every moment. Openheartedness has served me well these past months, tempered with new boundaries (though these shape-shift daily). Life is certainly interesting. Maybe that’s the main thing: I am holding my own interest. And for now, until the next necessary regurgitation of words, I am enough.
I am on the fence about the whole next part of this life. Where to go from here, in dance, in love? What is priority? What remains that needs shedding? What do I need to reclaim?
I get caught up in this quest(ion)ing, and then life throws me a simple surprise, like the serenade the other night by two hands and a guitar.
I wrestle with my free will, with my ability to absolutely do whatever I want. It is terrifying, like jumping off a cliff. I want, on the one hand, to shackle myself to any available surface, to cling tight, to shut my eyes against the oncoming ocean waves of salt. The other hand wants to be brave. A tiny, flickering part of me wants/needs to utterly let go, to fall, to fly, to reunite with the fearless (dancer) that is in here somewhere, to fail.
Two hands and a guitar. Perhaps that’s the closest metaphor to what I’m feeling. The right hand plucks and strums, is slightly longer-nailed out of necessity. The left is most beautiful in its seeking, knowing precision, hitting (almost) all the right notes, pressing strings against the neck. A gift. Two hands, expressively different, unique, yet aiming for the same lofty goal of sharing.
I try to let go even as I hang on, to strum and pluck even as I strike a chord and let it melt away with my eyes closed. It seems to be the way of it, this duality, these extremes existing simultaneously. I balance cling with release, safety with a razor-edge of danger and risk, my right hand with my left, the coordination of bravery. Some days it comes down to regaining comfort in my own skin. Others it’s about sitting in a doctor’s office and not melting down.
I renew my goal to be open to the potential of every moment. Openheartedness has served me well these past months, tempered with new boundaries (though these shape-shift daily). Life is certainly interesting. Maybe that’s the main thing: I am holding my own interest. And for now, until the next necessary regurgitation of words, I am enough.
posted by barefootblogger | 12:36 PM
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