Tuesday, November 12, 2013
At a Loss
Here I am at Day 12 of NaBloPoMo and I feel like I'm running out things to talk about. That's not true, of course, but I have this little internal expectation that after a few days of daily writing, the words will flow from my fingertips effortlessly, and my thoughts will be perfectly composed, cogent, and full of pithy wisdom. More often than not, it feels like the words are being forcibly extracted from my fingertips and my thoughts are all clunky and awkward. Which, not surprisingly, is how I often feel in real life. Actually, that's how I've felt most of my life. I was a shy, awkward child who loved nothing more than to have my nose in a book. Or if I couldn't do that, I'd put on one of my mother's cotton dresses and head into the woods to play Pioneer Woman. My horse was a downed tree that had a bouncy branch that was perfect for riding sidesaddle. The rooms of my house were outlined by piles of leaves. I spent hours playing in the woods. I was nothing if not dreamy, with a romantic bent. I would love to recapture the feeling of losing myself in being who I want to be. That sounds odd, doesn't it? I mean, I am exactly who I am meant to be. But there was a feeling of freedom in pretending to be a strong woman, who roamed the wilderness, and who kept a mean leaf house. Every now and then, I get that feeling when on a road trip and mostly when I'm alone. It's like whatever skin I wear around other people sloughs off and I become more…me. I feel lighter, happier, less constricted. When I was in elementary school, I'd be a gypsy at Halloween. I wore a brilliant striped taffeta skirt, my mother's scarves, and long bead necklaces. My mother would make up my face and I wore brilliant red lipstick. I was very exotic and I had by far the best costume in the neighborhood. Maybe I'm a gypsy, a vagabond at heart. I'm fascinated by gypsy caravans, or vintage trailers that are essentially tiny houses. I like the idea of roaming and having my own place while roaming. That said, the element of mystery and romance that might be lacking if I carried my house with me. Ah! To be able to roam at will, to be unfettered by societal expectations. That, to me, sounds like pure bliss!