No matter where I go in the world I know in Newport Beach the sun will be shining. This flawless beauty disturbs me, it doesn’t feel real.
And it isn’t. Next to me, at lunch, sit gaunt women, with pinched faces who pick at their cucumbers and cottage cheese. I want to shove a hamburger into their mouths. I want to turn to them and say, “do you know you are wearing your unhappiness?”
But who I am to dislike what is considered to be beautiful and ideal? Who am I to judge strangers over lunch?
It is just now I have no fully, constructed life to live in. I am in-between one chapter and another, and I am impatiently awaiting to acquire what is next.
Yet, in this space I am crystalizing what I want to do with my life; in this space I am creating my next chapter. At times, though, it feels hot and uncomfortable – like the sunburn I acquired at the beach, making me red with my lack of protection.
And I know better, know to wear sunscreen, to be patient, to understand the importance and significance of this moment that I am sitting in.
People keep asking me outrageous questions, such as, “where do you live?” or “what do you do?” and I want to answer with what I see for myself – what I believe to be ahead of me.
Instead, I say the truth, which sounds equally outrageous, “I haven’t had a permanent address in over a year,” and “I’m a strategic creative consultant who helps other people tell their stories – both business and personal.”
“Oh,” is usually the response – it’s beyond a categorical understanding – there is no box to place me in.
But this is what all of my travels, people and jobs have brought me; the knowledge that you can make a blank canvas of your life and color it any way that you want.
It might not be easy or fair – it might seem hopeless or the result might look very different than the picture that you had in your mind, but your life can be crafted from your own abilities, desires, and whatever else you decide to throw upon the canvas.
Still, at times I am entangled and frightened. At times, I get caught up with words like, “normal,” and, “typical,” especially when people like my parents tell me, “I have to grow-up.”
I challenge them because, “how am I not grown up?”
I built a career, made a home, attempted creating lasting, long-term relationships, and participate in managing the responsibilities that come with having an extremely ill Father and an overwhelmed Mother.
Are we so caught up in our own societal constructs that we cannot celebrate the many chords and keys in which one can live their life? Are we so stifled that we cannot be open to what can be the joy of autonomous living?
And I want these things, of course. I want, one day, to be married, I want, one day, to own some kind of abode that I can dwell within.
But even more than that I want to create – I want to continue to travel down the path that I’m on; the one that sees books and companies ahead.
I want to strike my own notes, so loudly that I forget the doubt, the fear, the uncertainty and pain that has brought me to this very moment of in-between.