a post where i ramble a bit
liz lamoreux
it seems a bit serendipitous to be somewhat unexpectedly spending this evening alone.
i made myself breakfast for dinner and ate it on our wedding china and drank apple juice from one of our wedding goblets. making this dinner and "plating it" felt like a sacred moment of alone time. (a sacred sunday moment on a saturday.)
then, i settled in for a dvr'd episode of this guilty, campy pleasure (i did say campy, but could have just as easily said eye candy-filled).
it is that darn song at the beginning of this show though that sticks with me always, for hours. it is a fun song really that plays on repeat in my head. but tonight, i listened to the lyrics a bit differently as i realized that elvis is singing a version of my mantra of late:
a little less conversation, a little more action.
yes, yes, yes to this. i spend a lot of time in my head. and, i spend a lot of time thinking about the word "begin." i have spent a lot of time talking about the importance of beginning, but i have realized that my beginning seems a lot like thinking and talking and not a lot like action.
last year, i thought i was beginning something. but instead, i ended up spending a lot of time thinking instead of doing. and, i was sick for a bit, and life well, let's just say that last november life turned upside down for a bit.
and i have spent most of the last twelve months, not every moment, but a lot of moments in my head, twirling in circles a bit for various reasons because of several different things that have happened in the last year.
at some point in 2006, i had this realization that the grief i was experiencing over my grandmother's death had become a new beginning of sorts. a rebirth of the little unafraid, creative, fearless girl inside me. i began to think of myself a bit like a phoenix. and i often turned to deb talan's lyrics, as i have mentioned in this space many times, because it was as though that was my song. but, i always paused at the rest of the line that often quote:
Dry your wings in the sun
You have only begun to understand
When it's time to move on there is no one
To hold your hand.
i guess i have always felt a bit annoyed that she is saying that there is no one there. because, i always thought there was supposed to be someone there.
tonight, after i watched a little tv, i spent time creating a new design i have been thinking about for a while. i pieced bits of fabric together for a long time, listening to my ipod on shuffle. i paused a bit when cass fox started singing "army of one." something about the repetition of "you gotta feel it, you gotta want it, you gotta own it" along with this image of being an army of one...something about it made me stop. and think.
the idea that we must realize we are our own army of one. the idea that after you have been "reborn" as the phoenix is, just after, when your wings are drying and you are remembering to breathe, this is a time for sacred alone-ness.
i have been missing this point a bit. or at least i spent time this past year forgetting what i already know to be true.
long ago, i recognized that i am one of those people who feels lonely at times. and, i have learned that this is a lot more common than i once thought. still, i have sometimes mistaken the letting go of things, whatever those things might be, as loneliness. but, now i realize that maybe i have instead been given opportunities to spend time in this sacred alone-ness.
and, of course, part of the beauty of all of this occurs when you suddenly realize, after you pull yourself out of it (whatever it is for you), that you are not alone. not even a little bit.
this is where i am. i am inviting myself to stop the thinking and swirling of unhealthy repetition. i am inviting myself to realize that the stopping itself is action. i am inviting myself to realize that the more i worry or assume, the less i am moving forward. i am inviting myself to realize that it is okay to spend time in the thought, as this is who i am, but that moving forward is indeed the plan. i am inviting myself to realize that i am not alone. i am inviting myself to realize the power in being alone. i am inviting myself to let go and begin.
a little less conversation, a little more action.
(thanks elvis.)