The crack of change has whipped my ankles and yanked me in an entirely new direction. Again.
Why must it be a reinvention?
It’s simple; it’s my personality. I accept it for what it is; I am not a half-in type of gal. I wish I were, it would make this life a whole lot easier, but I am the full-spa package. I want the deluxe, the matching set, soup to nuts, and I only find this possible by throwing myself in head first with abandon.
The downside of this reinvention business is the undulating identity crisis, lapping the sides of my figurative swimming pool, awkwardly bumping all my personality traits into one another like greasy, sunscreen-slicked water park guests on oversized, inflatable tubes. All I’m saying is- there’s a bit of chaos. What I’m getting at is- if I was the wheel, I’ve recalled and taken myself back to the drawing board more times than I can count. The sheer inefficiency of the workflow, of finding an acceptable prototype, cannot be stressed enough.
This time, however, I’m pretty confident in the design. This could be it. I could, very possibly, finally know who I am.
Sound the alarms! Ring the bells! Call the press! She’s finally done it! Now- the crippling Ego death of realizing no one gives a shit. Oh dear- that again.
There’s so much build-up to knowing what you have to offer the world, the path you were meant to walk. Get out of your own way, trust the process, and exercise the bravery to be seen. The only issue is that no one is looking when it’s all said and done.
I’ve spent endless hours concerning myself with what my invisible audience would say, think, or do as acting witness to the audacity of Me. The irony? The moment I stepped into the spotlight, the critics didn’t come. The only people who showed up were those who loved me before I had any idea of who I was *supposed* to be, before the reinvention, my grand reveal. There is no crowd, no fan base to appease, to bend and pry myself into the shapes and figures they demand.
It’s just me, and my friends.
Who I am, who I clawed and labored to become in that definable, marketable way, never mattered, and never will. The sobering reality that who I am as my smallest, most unintentional, is always enough, always has been, and always will be. Regardless of how many versions I may turn up, the one unifying thread between them all will never change, and that’s what makes me who I am. The aspects of me that are out of reach, constant, and beyond my control.
This is a universal feeling, and you captured it beautifully!