Not My Hair

Firmly establishing what my identity isn’t linked to, I’m faced with the bigger question of what is? An advantage to peeling away these layers of repression is high contrast. Each raw, painful memory stripped and exposed leaves a virtual road map to the sources of my insecurity. I only lament not getting more tattoos. 

Fanning out all the pieces in front me, a pattern starts to take form. The theme has always been obvious, a forest on a map. Individual trees are the hard part. For years I was trying to map out the area  before deciding where to start. Putting off any action until I was sure of the foundation. Shaky territory is where the best stuff lives.

Instead of attempting to navigate the forest of my mind I decided to start living in it. Getting to know the trees themselves, I’m a much more interesting person than I give myself credit for. I haven’t pursued autobiographical fiction because we are all pretty much the same. Apparently this is a unique perspective and the irony is too delicious to ignore. So now my story really is about my life, except it’s happening to someone else.

If any of that is confusing, join the club. I hope to think less and act more in 2018 – a moderately scary prospect considering I moved across the country last year. Of course, some actions aren’t as obvious. As with yoga, it’s the intent defining our actual progress. Even if it looks like I’m standing still, I assure you every muscle in my body is straining to stay alive.

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