even after all these years – a full five decades – it is andrea vrusho who sticks out. in her bandana kerchiefs, her flowy clothes, her peace sign necklace, i can still see her. she was the shining light who encouraged us all to write, to search, to be poets, to be ourselves, to embrace words.
i’ve written about her before. i will likely write about her again. the lighthouses in your life are like that; they keep rising up and waving at you, encouraging you just like they always did.
and i still see her – standing at the front of my high school english class – all tie-dyed and hoop-earringed – even now – in the latter part of the middle of my sixth decade, as i continue – ad infinitum – to do this: “the thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself.” (anna quindlen)
she was one of the first – outside my family – to lessen my concern of being a different coneflower, the flower spent from living aloud, a flower on the edges. she pompom-ed my tree-sitting, my practice of journaling. she challenged my beliefs and rained questions on us. she buoyed my feminism and stumped in class for our rights. she cheered on my voice.
and i think about her now. now, as i reclaim that voice. now, as i broach the distance between before and after. now, as i reach back in time to who i was and, thus, who i am.
i know that my coneflower looks different. i have always felt it. artists are outliers, sticking out sometimes simply because of simple reasons. the suits don’t quite fit. you are somewhere lagging behind the trends. you are hopscotching from creative project to project. you are exposure-heavy and earnings-light. you are different – your perspective, your ultra-sensitivity, your empathy. you are the silver in a field of gold, the gawky sunflower in a meadow of daisies. but, despite your best efforts at being the best blendy coneflower you can be, your own distinct and peculiar – offbeat -voice stays with you. like gum on the bottom of your shoe, as much as you try to dislodge it, it is there – still sticking around.
a few days ago on the trail i stopped and turned to d.
i preambled what i was going to say – “this is not a solvable moment. this is just something i have to say.”
and then –
“that’s it!” i declared. “no more sniveling! i’m done with that! it is not who i am!”
without context that could be confusing. but in the middle of the middle of life right now, it made complete sense to him.
and he looked back at me – with andrea clapping her hands on the other side – and said, “good!”
“never compare your insides to everyone else’s outsides.” (anne lamott)
*****
read DAVID’s thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY
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