“How have you been? Nice to see you again. How quickly these conversations seem to end. You meet a friend every now and then. How quickly these relations turn into trends. Put all your walls up and open your windows and close all your doors. You catch yourself standing in front of the mirror and now you need more. What do you wish for to catch you as you’re falling. So easy to ignore, but now you hear it calling again. “I wouldn’t want to be you. This lonely game that you play between your walls you confuse. Every heart that you break. So afraid that you’ll lose. Always a void to replace. I wouldn’t want to play you. You try and pretend, the truth is hard to bend. How easy these translations can be read. What if you were led to play a different game instead. How hard these frustrations are to mend. Does it matter to you? Just wait …” ~ Trapt
Dear “Past Me”:
Yes, I know exactly how you’ve been, and no, I don’t ever want to see you here again. Don’t forget to keep those walls DOWN and the windows OPEN WIDE as you stand in your mirror often and marvel at who you’ve become. You don’t need to wish for anything whenever you start to fall, because after all we’ve been through we’ve learned how to pick ourselves back up! No more pretending. No more truth bending. And remember this “game” is not a game – IT’S A SONG. You are a Phoenix. You’re a queen. You’re a warrior and a survivor! Now go and shine that “Light In Someone’s Dark” just as you were always meant to.
Ten years ago you boarded a plane to France with so much more baggage than what you’d actually packed you could barely walk, much less carry the load you’d allowed yourself to be burdened with for too many years to count. Until the moment your feet hit this soil, you’d perpetuated a lifelong farce to everyone you knew and loved, not the least of which was yourself.
Your life back then was an apparition filled with all the shiniest things a person could possess and the appearance of a picture-perfect family completely in sync with each other on every possible level. Little did you know that ten days later when that plane finally landed back in Dallas that “you” weren’t on it and would never be coming home again.
Meanwhile, all in the course of a relatively short jaunt you met two complete and total strangers. Remember how you believed they were actual angels God had set on your path to help you begin the process of becoming acquainted with the other stranger you’d met on that trip – you? One of these days you should be brave enough to introduce those two strangers from your past and really speak your truths by the way, so consider this your official challenge!
At the end of the day what I can tell you is that I find it no coincidence that you are back here in France, a decade later, celebrating your birthday with not only this amazing man who has brought you so much sweet joy and fullness that your words since meeting him have failed to find their way to paper, but more importantly – with YOU!
September 17, 2018: Everything has changed so much since the last time you were here, and your life is unrecognizable! Your feet hit that soil with a steadfast determination to stop living a lie and start living an authentic life you could be proud of with the REAL you, no matter the cost, and cost you yes it did. How could you ever have known that despite your best efforts to salvage the life and relationships you already had, in order to see your resurrection to fruition you’d end up having to let so many things and people go? So, you became a living bomb that self-destructed during the process of peeling off that venomous black Spidey suit you’d been wearing all the while that had all but suffocated the life from you.
I’d like to think that if you could change this last ten years you wouldn’t have changed a thing, as in my heart I think you’ve always known that all of this had to happen for a reason. You found yourself. Found your voice. Your truths. All the many reasons. You know exactly who you are, how you got here, what things you’ve done right and all the many things you could have done better. You’re an imperfect, beautifully chaotic disaster at times – too much for some people digest. You. Are. You. Nothing more. Nothing less. And besides, “what other people think of you isn’t any of your business anyway.” You’re a survivor, and a warrior, and a badass and a true and genuine person. And as long as your two babies back at home and that man standing behind you in one of your favorite places on the planet think that you’re their hero? Well who could ask for a better birthday present than that?
Happy Birthday to YOU Catherine Marie Williamson. It’s been so nice getting to know you!
“I analyze everything, I know what you mean. I answer by questioning all that I need. And I want you to surrender, I want you to see all the signs, all the faces inside of me. I see I’m not perfect, but that’s all I see. Lost in a portrait in a picture of me … this can’t be everything I see. Then my canvas is incomplete. Your color’s everything to me, and my canvas will set me free. My outline’s solid and made up of crying. And nothing’s that you say just burn my eyes. I want to surrender, I want you to find some comfort in the spaces between the lines.” – Trapt
This trip is almost over and while I’ve made a push against “the dragon“, part of me is still very sad. The tours each day have been long, and the sights have been overwhelming. I am in love with this country and being here brings me an ethereal peace that is just so hard for me to describe. The deep, rich history beckons my soul and calls to mind that although these last 16 years have felt so long and treacherous, they are but a blip on the radar of my life comparatively speaking.
As I’ve traveled here in France and wandered through each more beautiful village, I’ve found myself a perpetual state of “eyes wide shut” trying to imagine having been here in some other space and time and walking these very same roads. What did it look like? What did it smell like? How did it sound, taste and feel? So many battles have been fought and won here and so many of these breathtakingly beautiful places and monuments have been desecrated, then rebuilt, if only to emerge even more beautiful than they were before. Countless pools of human blood and tears have soaked these fervent soils yet still all these flowers bloom.
So, then what does history tell me? WHAT DOES IT SCREAM TO MY SOUL?It says that history is but a series of ongoing events leading to either growth or death in endless abound. Each sunset begs the opportunity for me to leave the past behind and awaken to a horizon that literally hands me a daily set of choices, beginnings and ends. My story then, my “history”, can really mean something if I choose to let it, even if I personally never witness the outcome with my own eyes.
Perhaps my purpose is much bigger than myself and the lessons I’m learning along the way will somehow cause a ripple effect in the history of not only my family but any other lives I manage to touch along the way, like a pebble being dropped into the ocean. Maybe someone, somewhere, somehow will be standing in the very places that my own two feet have been and thus my history will have broadened someone else’s horizon far beyond what I can possibly imagine.
Perspective has got to be everything otherwise I’m only deaf, dumb and truly blind. Still, during these last days I’ve found myself staring far beyond these beautiful Provencal fields, into an abyss I neither understand nor am fully connecting with. At the end of the day, all I can say is that I desperately need to make sense of all my broken pieces so that I can use them to make this my life, my children, this world and everyone I encounter somehow better than I found them. Please, God, I am begging You. It’s time for my masterpiece to finally start coming together.
“My independence is calling my name, a doubtful voice divides my faith. My independence only hesitates an unsure choice I can’t embrace. You’re gonna have to carve me, carve me from stone, right to the bone or I’ll end up alone. I’m paying the role of someone in control. Why do I rush to slow down? Why do I rush to slow down everything? Will the dice ever roll? When will I ever know? Will the plot ever twist, or will I still resist? I’ve been playing the part of a lost realist. My independence is turning the page, tomorrow comes we start to fade. My independence only complicates, it’s not enough to meet half way. I only keep what I give away.” ~Trapt
Why was he crying when we pulled away? I didn’t quite get that at all. Was he crying for her or because Christian was leaving too? Or did he somehow know that I was never coming home again? The distance between us is many light years by now so surely, it’s not me he’ll be missing. My roommate, my friend, my “hero” … My Peter. I mean he truly is all those things that I’ve said – self-made, hard-working and I’m pretty sure he’s been faithful. Nineteen years back and forth can’t have been a complete and total lie? But we are roommates, nothing more, nothing less. In my heart of hearts, I think I’ve always known that he never really wanted me in the first place. Maybe someday that’s what he will realize, too. We kill each other, sling mud at each other and rip open each other’s raw wounds. We were a cosmic, toxic collision right from the start and I’ve known this all along. I’ve stood in front of him and begged and pleaded at least a thousand times now, but he tells me to just go away. A slap on the face of all I wanted us to be. He’s said that those things were only said in anger but his actions, or should I say, inactions, always met his words. He lives in a place a million miles from me. So then why was he crying? Wasn’t this what he wanted – for me to just “go and not let the door hit me in the ass”? I’ve often said that he has never left my side, but that’s not quite true is it? I have been completely on my own where my emotional wellbeing is concerned, and he just thinks I’m a raving lunatic. “A pathetic, joke of a human being” he once said to me, “A huge fucking joke of a human being!” Oh God there goes my daughter. The limo is pulling away now and she is crying too. What I’m most scared of at this very moment is that the tiny dancer waving goodbye to her mom is in grave danger of becoming me! Is this what I want her to become? What if she turns 38 one day only to wake up and realize that her own reflection is missing? That baby will learn what she lives and will only become the woman I teach her to be! So how can I teach her to become a strong, healthy woman when I don’t know how to be one myself? How will I teach her to love herself when I can’t practice what I preach?