Once upon a time, it was so easy to feel my “gypsyness” come and overtake parts of me…to come and steal me way in my imagination to a new place where I could start new again. It was so easy for me to feel the rushing energy of wanting to leave the places I had been, in search for a new place to be, a place that would feel like what “home” feels like, a place that felt like quiet settled comfort. A place you didn’t feel so foreign in, that no longer belonged to you, a way of being that you, ultimately, did not belong to anymore. Because life will do that to us, it will drop us off and drag us through places we could not have imagined even on our worst of days.
Yeah. I remember standing on the edge of a life story that no longer was mine. If I looked behind me, I saw the 27 year-old, fresh out of college, newly married woman still beaming from the light of Bride. If I looked at the edge where I stood, I was a late twenties widow stuck, and I do mean stuck, in a life she did not see coming: unemployed widow with trauma induced onset of her genetic mental make-up. The light of Bride quickly faded in the dark of Death. But I won’t go there anymore, because leaving that place was the hardest thing I have ever done.
Standing at the edge I felt only two things, I stay stuck or I look back...there was nothing else in my experience that I could reach to, that I could see to build a future on. I stood alone, for the first time, to invent a future. And then I met the Gypsy, the name I gave my creativity and imagination. The place where I go to invent and open possibilities of what feels like limiting experiences, like DSM labels, like fear of being alone, like fear of being with another, like fear of not being good enough, like fear of being too much...with my work, with my family, with friends, with a man. You know, like reinventing the string of incessant mental chatter into a calm word that matters.
Once upon a time, standing at that edge, it was so easy to feel Gypsy. There was something to be left behind. But that is not my struggle. What is behind is behind. And how do I engage with my creativity and imagination when the life I finally arrived to feels so right and so home and so sweet and so fulfilling even in the mess of cancer? When my love for my work is everything I hoped it might be, when my home is painted with the color and decorated with the art that belongs to two and not just one, when I wake up to and go to bed with “I love you” in English and in Spanish…what do I invent and create now that I live in all the emotions and places that I once dreamed? It’s time for a new dream…and I have a sneaking suspicion that this dream I won’t dream alone. He stands with me at my edges, the man I love.
A new dream for a new era...where will the Gypsy take me? I heard her whisper Freedom…