Believing in the Somewhere Place
If I can write honestly for a moment – I have a birthday coming up in only 9 months! I know I will be laughed at by many of you who have passed this milestone, but for some reason this number bothers me, it itches, I want to throw it off.
The thought of being 39 for the last time sits with me, shakes her head, gives me a sideways glance and says, ‘You’re not exactly where I thought you would be.’ As if I have disappointed my demanding inner child.
I want new pictures taken for my online profiles, but I am afraid they won’t look the way I see myself. To be quite frank, when I look in the mirror I still see a young face. For the first time in my life I see smoothness and radiance. Where did this light come from?
I keep hearing that it only matters how we see ourselves, but there is some disconcerting imbalance between what I see and the feeling of not being somewhere. Where is this somewhere? Can I be radiant without reaching?
Oprah used to celebrate women in their forties. Hmph! I guess she bypassed forty and left all of us behind. I see no Oil of Olay ads in my future anyway. Maybe there is still time to make her recommended book list before the clock winds down.
Where is the celebration? The triumph? Balloons? Will there be those? Maybe I can just put in my ear buds and listen to Jack Johnson on a beach somewhere. Again – that somewhere. And how can I schedule this vacation without my inner child finding me?
I guess she’s kind of cute anyway with her snow blonde hair and curious blue eyes. (Maybe she is no harder on me than I ever was on her.) And what a dreamer! On the swing set alone she pumps her legs with all her might until finally, finally she is airborne and flying in that place of maybe and what if.
What if people had purple faces? What if we had three arms or what would life be like with no moon?
She has the ability to be with no place to be.
I look out the window as she carries rocks to the wild petunias. She tells me the Mimi Spirits need them. I believe her and later on I will help her carry rocks so the spirits can slip in and out of our world.
I suppose my thirties have been an accumulation of finding my somewhere, of never arriving, packing my bags, leaving, staying and finally realizing that life is never about the arrival. You find your free space, your somewhere, when you finally stop pumping your legs.
“So child, if we are not exactly where you thought we would be where should we go?”
She pulls at her blue plaid dress because it itches and she wants to throw it off. She jumps off the bottom step like it is the leap of her death, and says, “Let’s go put words together like we did yesterday. You know the way they lean like the little baby cosmos on the fence!” She pinches her fingers together to show me how small they are.
“Where will we get the words?” I ask.
“They’r under the rocks – yu know,” she pulls her dress over her head. I love the way it hangs on her nose and lingers in her sweaty hair. Such freedom. Digging for words under rocks is always better in dirt stained underwear.
At 39 I guess I am realizing there was never anywhere to go. If I had ever waited long enough life would have blown me where I needed to be. People and faces come in on unpredictable winds. People leave, situations change. We create goals and intend our plans, climb a ladder to nowhere only to realize our somewhere was already everywhere.
And here is the radiance. Blue jeans and farm fencing. Dogs that come when you call their names. Pillows! Pillows everywhere, rain and tiny drops of cream and sugar in your coffee… (I am pinching my fingers together to show you how tiny the drops are.)
Turning the corner I pick up the blue plaid dress from the summer lawn. Maybe this itchy number was about freeing my inner child all along. Maybe it was about me believing in her dream.
Believing that the somewhere place could simply be here.
Nicole Rushin quietly manages her blog Writing as Loud as I Can @ nicolerushin.com where she writes and talks about poetry, dreams, growth, her journey of writing and what it feels like to let go of the pen. She publishes a monthly pdf e-book called Dream-Speak.