Nowadays I cry because I am so happy, just like my momma. I never thought in a million years I'd be able to do that, or I thought if I did get to that dreadful era I'd be so busy digging my own grave that the look of a small child would set off the waterworks. I've heard this said once and I can't think of a better way to put it. One day you'll look in the mirror and you'll say, "Mirror, Mirror on the wall, it's true, I am my mother after all!" If I had more time I would be certainly tell you many painful stories about my mother an I. They would make all of you cringe and most of your hearts pull so fiercely downward that you had to cry. If my daddy could explain the tension, he'd say it's because we are so very much alike. And he, i must admit, is right. Today I don't look at it as a curse, but as something I cherish. Because, you see, my mother is a very beautiful person, and her heart is very large. And if I had gotten my childhood wish of never being anything that even vaguely resembled my mother, then I would be a very sad old woman. So, Momma, I'm sorry I stopped snuggling you when I grew up, I hope I'm as pretty as you when I grow up more, and when I'm all grown up I'd be honored to be even more like you.
That being said, my momma's heart feels a lot. And I most certainly got that from her. It was always a burden because I couldn't harness it and work it the right way. I would easily get frustrated, overwhelmed and angry because no one could feel the weight that was so crushing. So I found a dark, quiet place, I turned off the switch and I chose not to feel anymore. I snuffed out the candle, but the wick was still there. So when I finally found myself cold and exhausted from feeling around in the dark on my hands and knees- I knew I needed to light that candle again.
But what do you do when the rush of grace is gone? When the euphoria of multiple chances has evaporated? When the beautiful pink cloud is picking up a storm? You don't have to smile and laugh when its hard and things hurt all over again, but if you want to keep anything that has been given, you need to pick up the phone, open your mouth and do whats right in that moment. Quite a few special people in my life have told me how proud of me they are. I had mixed feelings about those words. I'd waited so long to hear them, but once I did it just didn't seem right. I thought, you know, if they could see in this head of mine they wouldn't dare breathe those words! I've been processing this for a several days now, trying to accept the fact that I am not who I once was, that even though I've been dirty and used I am being restored. Let me tell you, this is no easy feat. It feels schizophrenic at times. There are ideas that I've been stained, and there's no oxyclean to life. Then a hopeless romantic feeling that always has a beautiful counter-attack. I know without a doubt that there is a war going on for my mind.
Here's what I came to. I don't know why some things happened the way they did. I'm not sure if I will ever know that. Couldn't I have learned lessons another way? Surely- but I didn't. And this is the way things are. And people are proud of me. That's ok, because even though there's absolute chaos disrupting my mind nearly every moment, I don't act nearly as foolishly as I once did. It's ok to feel. It's ok to feel things that aren't warm and fuzzy either. I think of it as practice, sometimes I don't really know what I'm practicing for... but it never hurts to prepare. And preparing your mind, heart and soul has an effervescent effect.
If I come to you in tears about something silly like sold-out tickets, please don't minimize that. I've got to feel it as a child feels it. So when the next concert sells out I'll realize that its not fatal.
I love you all. Thank you for being proud of me.
