Do you ever wonder how many people actually know you? I used to have this irrational fear that I would never really be known by anyone. Like someday I'd die’and no one would know what to say at my funeral, because I was either too ordinary, or too perplexing to unravel. Eventually, I got over this hangup and decided to lean in to whatever I was feeling at any given time, to touch the corners of myself, to reveal the raw and monstrous, to show the soft and tender. Even if that meant they merely desired me instead of understanding me; even if they hated me instead of loving me.
These days, when people leave my life or decide not to invest in a reciprocal relationship, I know it's not because I didn't show them everything. Maybe it's because I'm 37 years old and I have three children, but I can't be bothered to pretend anymore. Now, I find that people come to me with niche recommendations they know I'll appreciate, with questions they think I can answer best. It feels good to be seen. My nearest and dearest know the kinds of conversations I'll partake in - the political, the metaphysical, the spiritually elevated, the socially conscious. I'm your girl.
You know, I buried what was left of my ego some time ago, but sometimes a small part of me still wonders if the people who left ever think about what they're missing out on. But I let those thoughts fade as quickly as they come, with the ability to appreciate that everything is meant to unfold as it should...
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