a street where I do belong
two years ago my husband and I attended the most joyous funeral for a beloved friend. she had been a mother figure for me, and the mother of my best friend, so the chance to attend her fabulous send off was appreciated.
after the funeral, we drove to the family luncheon, and it just happened to be on a street I was very familiar with as a child. I had driven hundreds if not thousands of times past this street growing up, and once I attended high school and middle school, I walked along it many times as well.
the parking was pretty full, so we ended up parking a few blocks away in the same neighborhood, and being 7 months pregnant, the walk to the house took more than a hot minute. as we meandered (waddled) I expressed to my husband how much I “loved” this neighborhood and street growing up. he understood right away, as we passed cobblestone driveway after cobblestone driveway, manicured lawns, copper rain gutters, matching mailboxes made of a exact to scale replica of the house, beautiful and delightsome climbing rose bushes and ivy covered chimneys.
what bubbled up along that walk surprised me so much, I am now barely able to write about it. with each step my swollen pregnant feet took, the childhood feelings of this same walk popped up unexpectedly. the longing to live there (pop!), the wishing (pop!), the needing(pop!), the aching desire (pop!)…all followed by the “crushing” reality (pop pop pop!). Between my wishes and what I could see, was a Grand Canyon sized gap of what I thought I deserved and what “these people” deserved. This empty canyon crushed my soul. the most difficult part of allowing the emotions, was the realization that, 30 years later, I still felt exactly the same.
somehow, somewhere, God made me less than the people who lived in these homes. that somehow, somewhere there were rules that kept ME where I am, and OTHER People here on this beautiful road, in beautiful houses, with beautiful cars and shiny windows. I can'not explain in words this tidal wave of sorrow for that little girl, how I wanted to scoop her up, and tell her she is NO different than anyone, and certainly never less deserving as well. that everything she was experiencing was for a grand purpose, that was molding a fascinating and captivating story to be lived and told. (the tears welling up within me right now are stabbing my heart).
they say every hero’s journey in a novel starts with the hero identifying with everything OTHER than their true essence, (their true essence being what I like to call “their child o God eternal self”), and the story only begins to change when they finally leave behind the identity with no looking back, they are willing to risk anything and everything to fulfill their “calling” in life no matter what, old identity be damned.
and just today, somehow, and in some way, reflecting on Thanksgiving dinner with extended family I knew in this strangest way I was still identifying, in so many ways, as that sad and lonely and hopelessly hopeful little girl. all these years later still pretending like she doesn’t/didn’t exist, still pretending I’m like everyone else, still pretending I FEEL LIKE I BELONG wherever I desire to be. But it’s all just pretend. I’m still identifying as her.
but what if today, I let it go? the tricky part about letting go is 1. Not pretending like this old identity doesn’t exist and 2. Not pretending anymore like I’m not still holding on to parts of her.
you can’t let go of something you are pretending you aren’t holding.
how to let go? With love and gratitude and brutal honesty. that if I saw 4th grade Annie walking that street with her backpack, I would stop my car, and pull over, or better yet, walk out of the mahogany curved wood hobbit door with wrought iron handles, and run down the river stone walkway, and grab her. I would gently run my hand over her tangled and neglected hair, and tell her how beautiful she was in her hand me down shirt and high water pants. I would ignore her out of style shoes and lack of socks, dirty fingernails and unbrushed teeth. I would talk and talk with her until I heard her tell a funny story (Like she always could do) and belly laugh at life, despite everything she was going through. I would drink in the sparkle in her eye and leave a note in her pocket thanking her for how tremendously she protected me all these years, but that I’m also ready to let her go.
in the goodbye, I would promise her that she is not who she thinks she is, and that absolutely nothing isn’t exactly as it should be, and yet things are going to get so so so so much better. that she would find devoted and loyal friends who stand by her no matter what, that every teacher and classmate in her life was divinely placed for her, and only her, that she is wicked smart and talented and has abilities even she will never recognize. I would tell her that she grows into a gorgeous woman, with beautiful children and a hot as hell handsome husband, who is quiet, loyal and never gets in her way (but also laughs at all of her jokes). I would tell her that God has the most amazing plans for her, that most things aren’t going to work out, yet that is how things are working out. that she will fail many times, but hidden below are deep and connected triumphs. that the greatest love in her life will be herself, and God. that she should laugh as much as possible, dance always, never miss a chance to share her brilliant opinion when asked for it, and to NEVER stop dreaming. I will tell her that never feeling like she fit in or was understood will become her greatest superpowers.
but most importantly, I would tell her, that she is always a person living on that street. that she is already and always has been worthy of it, but if it isin’t happening yet, it’s because her story needs more plot development and character backstory. that it will happen when it is supposed to, but that is a never a sign of failure or a dismal dismissal from God. that she isn’t guilty of anything, but is dancing out the most beautiful dance of her life. the life of Annie. the small, sqirly, hyper, dirty, scraggly, funny, rambunctious, pollyanna little girl that everyone has always loved. and the ones that couldn’t love her was only because of the fear her ferocity to love brought out of them. that her fearlessness to face life made others cower and defend, because it scared them so much they had no idea what to do with it.
our greatest fear is not death, our greatest fear is LOVING THE LIFE WE HAVE, because deep down, we all know it is temporary.
I can’t wait to walk down that road again, and say hello to little Annie when I see her. and I also know, that isn’t possible until I fully leave that identity behind, without looking back.
maybe this is my swan song for her, for me, for all that was. the amount of gratitude for all that has been is outstanding and immense, and the choice to let go, even greater than it all.