You’d think a woman of forty-two would be too
old to believe in fairy tales, have a rational and practical mind, and live a
life with her feet firmly planted on the ground, but I realize this morning … I’m
not, I don’t, and I won’t apologize. It
might sound crazy and even a bit absurd, but I find it a miracle I still
believe in happily-ever-after, miracles, and the ability to receive the
impossible. I may be disturbed, but if you know me and the nightmare that’s
been the story of my life; perhaps that’s the greatest miracle of all …the simple
fact I haven’t given up.
I’m shocked I’m not in some institution somewhere,
addicted to some narcotic or an insatiable alcoholic, a liar, or a thief. I
have every reason, but no excuses. I’m
stubborn, perhaps naive, because I keep getting up. I’m battered and bruised, tattered and torn,
damaged and discarded, but I still dare
to reach for the impossible.
It reminds me of a song by Five for Fighting
called Superman, “I’m not crazy …or anything.
I can’t stand to fly; I’m not that naïve …men weren’t meant to ride with
clouds between their knees …I’m only a man in a funny red sheet, looking for
special things inside of me …I’m only a man in a funny red sheet, I’m only a
man looking for a dream. It’s not easy to be me.”
The world tells me I can’t spin straw into
gold, not without making a deal with the Rumpelstiltskins of the world that
will compromise my values; that I can’t slay dragons because I’m not born to
the right title or privilege; that Prince Charming isn’t for girls like me, that
happily-ever-after doesn’t exist. But I
choose to close my ears to the world’s pessimism-steeped in realism.
In darkness, I choose to believe in light. In
pain, I choose to believe in happiness. In loneliness, I choose to believe in
love. In rejection, I choose to believe
in acceptance. In fear, I choose to
believe in peace. In failure, I choose
to believe in success. In defeat, I choose to believe in miracles. In death, I choose to believe in life. Tell me there is no way, I’ll find a
way. Tell me there is no hope, and I
will continue to hope. Tell me I’m not able,
and I won’t stop until I’ve become a master.
Tell me you don’t love me, and I’ll love myself.
For a little while I listened to the world, I
let my way of seeing dim, to put on glasses of reality and lick my wounds. I’m not stupid. I know what’s real and what’s not. I don’t live separated from reality, but I’ve
allowed reality to take away the best part of me – my ability to see things
(love, hope, a better future) that are not yet - as though they were, and then have the strength to step forward to
make them happen. I don’t want to live
in a world that dictates to me how things are… or how they will be. THAT kind of world would have killed me a
long time ago. I am where I am, because I
refuse to accept those things. YES, I’ve
seen the ugliness of this world. I know
its face - intimately. I’ve seen way
too much of it. Those images, those
memories, and the scars are plain and evident and I don’t deny them. Every time
I see a scar, a burn mark, a stretch mark, or feel the pain from a past injury,
or look around at my present circumstances and know what I’ve walked away from,
I’m reminded vividly of each one. I couldn’t forget them if I tried. But I deny their power to define me.
So, today – whether you agree, disagree or
think or I’ve lost my mind – I believe in happily-ever-after, in magic, in
spinning straw into gold, and that I was meant to ride with clouds between my
knees.
Till next time,
~T.L. Gray
No comments:
Post a Comment