Am I?

 Woof, I've been toying with my identity lately. Always fancied myself as an artist - my very core tied up in this title. Distancing myself from this and other labels internally has been very sad. Feeling lost and unknown and empty - far beyond the intensity of leaving the religion I was in from birth until nearly thirty years old. I guess I just want to BE. At least for a time, to see what I've been blind to due to assumptions about myself and the universe. 

 Yet... I keep putting gas in my car, taking the kids to school, going to my office job, talking to the same friends, going to the same open mic, living in the same apartment, cooking the same meals, speaking the same language, surrounded by the same culture, day after day after day after day. Previously, I didn't identify as fearful but with a tiny bit of examination I see it now. Because I'd labeled myself as "tired", I don't stray far from my routine. Because I'd labeled myself as "thrifty", I don't spend money until a sense of urgency has developed. Because I'd labeled myself as "independent", I don't live anywhere near family. Because I'd labeled myself as "dependable", I'll stay right where I don't feel fulfilled for the sake of someone else's wants. All seemingly "good" things. So why hasn't the universe rewarded me? Ha! It's as if I labeled myself as "deserving" or "worthy" and if I were to just quickly glance up from my self I'd see that all I'm owed is "this". So neutral and dauntingly up to my own overused brain to decipher.

Make a Splash

 One day when I was about ten years old I was out in the door-to-door ministry, sharing thoughts from the bible and giving literature to those that answered their door and seemed interested. My partner for the morning was my friend, a fellow ten year old - we loved hanging out and also happened to be neighbors and there was a rare closeness we very much enjoyed. She was excitable and happy, such a sweet kid. She thought I was particularly funny this day and knew danger was approaching as her bladder pressure continued increasing steadily with each door we walked up to. She ensured me she'd be fine, let's do some more doors, not too many people are answering this morning, it'll be fine, oh god, I can hold it... I give the door a "knock, knock, knock." She gives the front porch step her finest "splish splash [uncontrollable laughter]" while she unloads a gallon or so rapidly from under her modest-length skirt. The angels were with us that day as no one answered the door and we scurried away to her mom's station wagon. Our moms couldn't have been far, though, I don't remember where they were as I try and recall this incredible moment. We laughed until we cried as she balled up her undergarments and stowed them in the back of the wagon, horrified, relieved and just so happy. Life is amazing.