I ran to the cemetery
I saw the crumbling tombstones, the forgotten names
I tasted the rain, I tasted the tears
I cursed the angels, I tasted my fears
And the ground gave way beneath my feet
And the earth took me in her arms
Leaves covered my face, ants march across my back
The black sky opened up, blinding me
I ran and I ran
I was looking for me
- Lifted from Ray of Light
***
In journalism, we usually write “30” or the number sign (#) at the end of an article to indicate the end… that nothing follows.
In a week’s time, I will turn 30. It is an age that I thought would be elusive to me. If you asked me a decade ago where I see myself when I turn 30, I will tell you point blank that I would die before I reach 30. That’s how morbid I was back then (and I only have Anne Rice to blame). I really can’t see myself this, well...old.
In a week’s time, I will be 30. And in writing this, I am saying that a part of me is OFFICIALLY DEAD.
Since the latter part of last year, I felt that I was a ticking time bomb. And though a small voice was already telling me to shift gears, I threw my caution to the winds and seized the moments as they came. So in no time at all, I was shattering.
Anyway, that was so yesterday. Here I am, entering a new chapter of my existence. A part of me has died, if only to give way to something better, more resilient and sprucely taciturn. The blueprint is clearer than ever and the stains of the past have become mere watermarks. I face this new epoch with a newfound wisdom and a thirst to live the life.
I realized this while staring at the tombstone on my father’s grave. The engraved name almost reads like my name, if not for two different letters. Maybe sooner, maybe later those two letters will change to reveal my name. And before that happens, I should have found the meaning to my existence. While I still have the time, I have to make the mark that will render me “immortal” . I can still right my wrongs and, with the lessons tucked under my belt, LIVE in cautious optimism. Why stress about my past when the future hold so much promise?
At 30, I am dusting it off and waiting for my real life to begin.
***
Last Friday was the start of my birthday celebration and I hooked up with one of the few “real” friends I have. We’ve had this strange connection since we crossed paths about four years ago. Our stories are so remarkably parallel that we usually end up bonking each other in the head just to knock some sense into our troubled minds.
In A, I saw my story from another perspective. She articulated the bitter truths and the personal lapses that I have come to realize lately. Underneath her expletives (at how I turned myself into a dimwit), her words of enlightenment and advice filled out the final pieces of my unsettling puzzle. And though the individual pieces of my puzzle are horrible, I was now able to stand back and realize the CLARITY in the total picture.
Thanks to A, my self-appointed talent manager and confidant extraordinaire.
***
If you don't know me at this point, then I really doubt you ever will.