Why not my life?

I laugh when she suggest I write a book about my life... "My life?" Right... because it is soo extraordinary. Even he laughed at the thought, which of course actually made me defensive of the idea. "Why isn't my life worthy of a book?!" God's little way of setting my sights back in the right direction...putting someone there to try to sway me the other way. Works everytime. So, maybe I will write it..or speak it and then write it. She says she has already talked to people about me. Not who I am, but what my life has been. They are interested. They are interested? And she still doesn't even know the half of it. Boy could I be dragging up some shit here folks. Not just a little, but a lot. Pain. Regret. Blind eyes and turned cheeks. Strength. Betrayal. Oh man what a can of worms. The man that would be put on the chopping block is still my sister's father and her and i love each other. Can I hurt her like that? She knows some...but not all. The woman I would crucify without even trying...just by telling the truth... is still a member of a family that I enjoy being close to. Would they understand or think I was just out for blood? Would I be breaking bonds in the name of healing and encouragement because they see it as mud slinging? If I am honest, there are people who I have forgiven now that may hate me for that forgiveness..because they likely never knew they needed it in the first place. I refuse to do it unless it is real... and that could cost me what little bit of illusion to friendship and love I have left.

and im not sure i can do it here. i feel suffocated. not by anyone or anything..but by "here". I feel like the only place where I can feel safe enough to do it is where I am supposed to be. That city is where I have been going all of my life. No matter where I landed, the destination never changes. I could wear that city like a dress. I feel it when I walk down the streets. I breathe it when I stand on the sidewalk. I drink it when I look out the window. and I cant explain to anyone that feeling. But i know i am not alone. It is a nod from someone passing by, or a smile from someone on a bench... they all know the same thing. New York is home. Even though it has never been my home town, I miss it. I just don't feel like I can do what I want with my life anywhere else.

Sure I want the family but shoot me now if that means i have to live in some stucco covered house with palm trees flanking it and no sign of seasons. Even temporarily would be a compromise made through gritted teeth. I want to be somewhere that always makes me feel like I have somewhere to be going. I want to be surrounded by people who have bigger veiws and dreams than what is for dinner. I want to be active in a community large enough to swallow me whole, so that the act of making a dent in it FEELS good instead of just looking good. I want to take a blank canvas and make it a home right in the middle of a city thats somehow embraces the rough brick exterior, open and clean interior, and the green life I will plant on top of it. I want to be somewhere that doesn't think writing on your wall is insane so that I can send my son outside to paint on the walls if I choose. I need to be able to walk to the cafe and in one hour watch a girl pith purple hair, an old couple holding hands, a bicyclist, and a model walk by without any reservations concerning the company they are surrounded in.

Where else can I be creative? I have to be able to breathe. I can't keep telling myself it doesn't matter where I go when I know that some ranch style home where the dish washer hums and the ceiling fan blows will be death of all growth between these ears. This is who I am. I am a city girl. I want to think as far out of the box as I can get. I want to fight for things. I want to give things. I want to be in the heart of my dreams.

want..want..want... we all want. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices, right? But which ones are okay? When I realized that I had given up who I was for my exhusband...I felt so lost I didn't know which way was up. I had stopped writing for so long that it didnt come pouring out of me anymore. My vocabulary had dwindled to nearly average. I stopped reading feverishly. I stopped drawing, because I wanted that to be his special thing..and so my hand forgot how to create. I guided him until I lost my way and then neither of us were where we should have been. I can't lose myself again like that. I can't get caught up in the shuffle..in the "American Dream".

No one will ever see the

power and beauty
I have if I keep toning it down

for the sake of those around me.