Little Miracles
September 15th, 2009
There’s something about the darkness… the sense and impending doom and fear that rises up through my bones, paralyzing my heart with dread… There’s something about that darkness that I’m thankful for. So, so thankful for.
Little miracles.
For the past few months I’ve had a specific darkness brooding in my mind. It permeates my every thought and is always waiting for me to drop my guard and let it back into my day to day moments. It’s one of the most terrifying things I’ve encountered in all my life and I can’t even fight it (in the sense that I would like) because it’s so intangible. It’s far and close and every bit beyond my control as the stars just out of my reach.
But-
It is because of this horrifying ick that coats my every thought that I can really enjoy small moments of… well, anything else like it’s the greatest thing in the universe. Last night I was working out the outline for my second novel (yay me!). Before working I’d cleaned out my little writing nest- my husband switched out my tiny table for a slightly bigger one. I organized my notebooks in a tub, grabbed my favorite drink, my favorite kind of pen, and a brand new notebook. I put a fluffy pillow behind my back, turned on my music, waited for the cat to get happily ensconced in my lap and then- I wrote.
I wrote for maybe two hours before my first break and when I got up to use the restroom- once the cat permitted me, I noticed something. It happened as I was passing by the mirror of all things. I glanced at my reflection and stopped mid step, breath catching in my throat.
It took me a moment to figure out why but once I did it was… wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. I looked at my neon-purple-blue hair, my glasses, my headphones- and a little deeper, my pale complexion, my too thin face, my crooked teeth, and the way my one eye wanders if I’m not really focused. I know this will sound weird but I felt just really content.
Why?
Because I realized I don’t look like my parent.
Told you it would sound silly. Most of us don’t care about it too much but it’s a big deal to me, separating myself from my parent especially now that the same darkness that consumed her is finding it’s way into my life. A year ago I looked in the mirror and saw her face, today I look in the mirror and I smile not just because I don’t look like her but because I look exactly like I want to look.
All the dreamers out there will understand me when I say this- especially if you’re a writer. When we think about becoming successful in life we look at others who are successful like we are and we might, consciously or no, try to emulate them to feel a little closer to the dreams that we dream so often. I used to think about the writers I know- ones I’ve seen in real life and I used to think there was always something so exotic about them. There was always some little obvious quirk that made me think I want to be like this person because to me those quirks were part of what it takes to be a writer. You just have to be a little strange, at least, to spend hours a day or more in the land of make believe with pen and paper. :)
I looked in the mirror and it wasn’t even really me I saw but I just felt writerly. I was already buzzing from the realization I didn’t look like my parent but it was even more than that. Still looking in the mirror I thought back to the moments before I got there. My hubby was at his computer doing school stuff, Kei was drawing in her little corner, and I was clicking away at the keys like my life depended on it- surrounded by cats! I had my writing nest just the way I wanted it. I was surrounded by everything I could have ever wanted- both superficial and not- everything from my favorite drink to my wonderful family.
My writing habits, what I surround myself with, family, and the joy I found in my own flaws- I saw in myself a lot of the quirks I admired in others all at once and it was awesome. I came back out- totally forgot I had to pee still, hugged my husband, poked Kei, and happily went back to writing for another six hours because though my head was filled with such darkness… it was because of the darkness that the bit of awesome in my heart was so powerful.
Thank you, Darkness. Once again your plan has failed and left me even stronger than before.
I can so relate to this :)
I have even tried to write about the fact that I have the dark hair and skin of a family member I wish I didn’t but the curves of my face and body are from the other parent so it makes me feel better.
Jessie: It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who goes through this though I’m sad you have to. I know it’s not the greatest of feelings. Sometimes I feel a tiny twinge of guilt for hating the resemblance but then I remember why I hate it so much. I remember some years ago I dyed my hair black because everyone told me it would look awful so I just had to try it out for myself. Turns out it looked awesome, my husband loved it and everyone said I looked really nice. I like it but I hated the upkeep- I’m used to having my roots grow out darker than my dye not lighter so it was a pain. In the end I ended up changing back to my usual color because a realitve of mine said I looked like ‘her’ in the early years. I didn’t see it myself at first but every time I looked in the mirror I thought about it so I was like- nope. Can’t do this, and changed it back. :)