There for awhile, I couldn’t remember what my voice sounded like.
Not my physical voice, per say, but the voice I wrote with and used to broadcast who I really was. It was almost as if some essential piece of myself was tumbling, lost among the jumble of changing jobs and struggling financially and wondering if I’d allowed life to kick me square in the ass.
And by “life” – I meant myself.
Imagine a BINGO cage, all those numbered and lettered balls bouncing around inside. That’s what my heart felt like: rattled, static, filled to the brim with white-noise and chaos.
Maybe it’s cyclical – this lifelong question of: “What can I truly offer this world to make a difference?” Maybe there’s no answer. Maybe whatever purpose we stumble upon from time to time is meant to be fleeting and lead us to other things.
All I know is, days would go by and I wouldn’t laugh. I wouldn’t read. I wouldn’t write. There was this off putting-desensitization around my edges, like I’d cloaked myself in some numbing agent and was just wandering around this town.
I can’t honestly tell you that I don’t still feel that way, to some degree.
I’ve done a lot of reading on my personality type/s: INFP, Type 9, Taurus…Pick whatever outline you’d like and you’ll find me bulls-eye among the peacemakers, introverts, and stubborn idealists. I pursue stability, solitude, and stillness; I hunt feminine art, good food, and comfy clothes like they’re solid gold. I crave intimate conversations, in a corner booth, and forage for morsels of genuine emotion after a few beers. I chase after sensuality like a red dot, constantly hiding how passionate I am behind faux disinterest. Under the thorns and the frosty demeanor and the sarcastic humor: I am an empath. I am gentle.
And I am constantly seeking self-awareness.
None of this has anything to do with duck blind pictures. What this does have to do with is this:
I am discovering it’s okay to be curious and introspective and focused about whatever subject matter I so choose. I throw myself whole-heartedly into things and, sometimes, get hurt in the process without even realizing I opened myself up for it.
But being out here? In the wind and the water and hearing these gruff-old-bastards laugh?
It makes me happy.
And I can feel my voice stirring – awakening- whispering…