On my thirty third birthday, to my delight, I discovered my first white hair. It was shorter than the rest, and reached skyward like a little fairy antennae. Every time I looked at it, I felt a sense of soulful relief that I was finally growing into my Self. The Self who had toiled and ached in the gaping chasm between the wisdom of my soul and the limitations of my sparse experience as a twenty-something years alive humanoid on planet Earth. (I still marvel at those who feel that their twenties are the best years of their life!!! Unfathomable…) My white hair was a prized trophy. Actually, Ed told me to call it “silver”. That does sound more glamorous… so let’s go with that… makes it sound like I could take it to the bank or use it for alchemical wizardry…
After not TOO much time, I got tired of the way it refused to blend with the flock, and I impulsively plucked it, convinced that soon enough, more would come. They didn’t. Until a couple weeks ago. And THIS time, three years later, my response to this burgeoning silvered, wiser version of myself is not nearly as insouciant. Actually, the contrast is remarkable. This time I am the mother of a five month alive goddess… And I feel suddenly OLD. I have felt worn ragged since she came. I hope it passes. I have been living in an incessant state of mild to spicy exhaustion. My yoga practice has spilled between the cracks in my whittled down, practical existence, as I prioritize money making endeavors, basic hygiene and hOMe maintenance. And when I DO exercise, it’s walking with a seventeen pound sack of Boozle strapped to me. God, I feel like I leave a trail of foot-shaped craters in my wake! My knees creak and groan precariously as I crouch up and down while cleaning houses, wearing my daughter. And best of all is the steady numbness in my thumb, pointer and middle finger, from the sudden flair up of postpartum carpal tunnel!
It actually feels ridiculous to be writing this. I never imagined that I’d tell it on a mountain about falling apart and “feeling old”. I’m hoping that it’s a fleeting, short-lived experience resulting from the Xtreme sport of being a new mom. A SINGLE new mom at that. And a *relatively* poor one a that. Actually, I do not consider myself poor. I feel pretty wealthy. But not wealthy enough to thrust heaps of cash at a babysitter while I go off and get a nice, deep, luxurious massage, or weekly acupuncture… or even… mmmm… a swim a the local pool. Now I’m drooling.
Serena is becoming more and more awake and engaged… and I am humbled. Gone are the days when she’d just sleep like a little dense loaf of heaven, and I could get on with my romanticized existence as a new mother. Nope. Welcome to the version of reality where I am mostly busting my butt to earn money while constantly attending to Serena, and keeping myself and my home in a moderate state of loveliness. Oh… and at least dabbling in staying connected to others.
If my life was a piece of music…. God, there are so many different instruments playing, and weaving together a very eclectic strand of melodies and diverse tones. Loneliness moans from deep down in my heart like a wailing saxophone. I thought I was ok with loneliness by now. I used to be afraid to admit Her presence, for fear of frightening others even further away from me. But over time, I realized that loneliness is an inevitable guest who visits everyone from time to time… no big deal. Lately though, I have not been such a gracious hostess… because while She has mostly been a respectful guest who doesn’t overstay her welcome, recently she seems to have set up camp. I guess She needs a lot of my loving attention. Sigh. I often feel frustrated that I am a single mom. Even though I chose it, I find myself longing to do it with Ed… Imagining a highly glamorous rendition of intimacy, witnessing the child we created out of our potent, devoted love, unfurl and blossom every day… Being kissed and held… Leaving Serena with him while I went to my weekly yoga class… Writing about this is causing the gravitational field in my heart to become crushing.
But back to the symphony singing in me. There is a brass section, that is crashing triumph! This experience has catalyzed the lazy, inert dimensions of me to WAKE UP and get groovin! A deep part of me was yearning to get unstuck… crying out for the grace of something that mattered enough to compel me to bleed and sweat and make shit happen. Silver hairs or not, if I was babyless, I’d still be draped on the figurative chaise lounge, eating organic bonbons and watching new-age soap operas. Ha! Actually, my LIFE is a bit of a new-age soap opera…. I remember one time, about three years ago, I was getting ready to leave my Ma’s house, and return back to my lovely art deco apartment in the Land of Oaks… and my Ma said to her cat, “Jupi, say bye to Athena… She’s going back to her soap opera now.” This comment simultaneously agitated me and cracked me UP!!! There was too much truth to it to be casually dismissed. But thankfully, over time, my Ma graduated my existence to the status of a full on OPERA. A classier production with bold, heart-wrenching music and exquisite costumes… I wonder what she’d deem this current incarnation. Now there’s not enough frivolous time to flop around and squeeze drama from the cracks in my life. My days are a steady stream of rigorous output. But somehow still colorful, because come on, it’s Graceland! Anyway, a deep part of me feels profoundly satisfied to be working so hard, and experiencing myself as boundless and powerful.
And yet… simultaneously, there is a part of me who is really getting off on feeling like a victim! I don’t know what instruments would sound for this section of my inner musical landscape….? Oh duh! VIOLINS. Tons of them!! Pooooor Athena. She has to do it all by herself. There is nobody to hold her baby. Her body aches and she’s exhausted and it never stops. It’s weird, but I can actually feel myself ENJOYING feeling sorry for myself in some moments! Even as I am concurrently feeling empowered and strong. I tell you this, because I feel a passionate call to bust through the collectively constructed myth that a person must be all streamline and tidy on the inside. NO WAY. We each have so many dimensions singing up from within us, all at once. And they don’t have to agree or make any semblance of sense. And yet, even inside this miraculous cacophony, we can still be graceful and at peace.
If you don’t know this about me yet, I love my stories to have “morals”. Not the kind of morals that measure your worthiness or acceptability… but the kind that invite you to look inside and touch your own humanity and divinity in an intimate and meaningful way. Modern day parables! I’m a messy, modern day Jesus! Haha!!! But seriously, Jesus taught the masses to love everyone. And I am suggesting that the precursor to that illuminated stance, is to love everyone who lives inside of YOU. I believe in the dawning of a world of peace and harmony… because it is rising soft and radiant in my own heart and life. And it is highly contagious.
Amen.
Athena Graceland 