Over the past year I have attempted to find the real me in me. I thought I always knew who I was but once I became a mommy I started learning things about myself I never knew. I always knew how strong I was but I never knew how strong I really was. There are days where I feel like Superwoman and other days where I crumble. Y’all know I have aired my life out on this blog and I am 100% honest all of the time. I do not sugar coat my life to make you think I am someone I am not. I have confessed my depression and my trials I have gone though prior to becoming a mom and after. There are days where I feel like I can stop taking my two little pills at night but then five days go by and I realize I am not as strong as I thought. I want to be “normal” but what is normal? I do not live in a facade where the crap that fills my dvr, like the real housewives, consumes my life as my ideal lifestyle. I do get down on my neighborhood and dream of the day where I can move out of here, but why? I became a homeowner at the age of twenty-five in a community where people only dream of living so they can send their children through our school system, so they can live peacefully in the country outside of the city. I do not have six rooms, I have three. I do not have 3,000+ square feet, I have 1500. I dream for the day when I can be my own boss. I dream of the day when I can stay at home and do not have to leave my sprout half way through the day to go serve the public. I dream of the day where I will be comfortable enough in my own skin to not get upset over menial shit. The one thing I have realized over the past few months is that I do not want to get older and sit back a regret all of the beautiful things in life. I have found one simple thing that my life was lacking, and I thank you, friend.
I often look to poetry and spoken word to get me through a rough patch. It’s like it brings me back down to that grounded state of who I am and reminds me of the person I always wanted to be. Tonight I read the following poem by Coleridge, I had not read this since my Old World Lit class in ’06 and tonight it had a different meaning. I hope you can take something from it.
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| Youth and Age |
| by Samuel Taylor Coleridge |
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| VERSE, a breeze ‘mid blossoms straying, | |
| Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee— | |
| Both were mine! Life went a-maying | |
| With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, | |
| When I was young! | 5 |
| When I was young?—Ah, woful When! | |
| Ah! for the change ‘twixt Now and Then! | |
| This breathing house not built with hands, | |
| This body that does me grievous wrong, | |
| O’er aery cliffs and glittering sands, | 10 |
| How lightly then it flash’d along— | |
| Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, | |
| On winding lakes and rivers wide, | |
| That ask no aid of sail or oar, | |
| That fear no spite of wind or tide! | 15 |
| Naught cared this body for wind or weather | |
| When Youth and I lived in ‘t together. | |
| Flowers are lovely! Love is flower-like; | |
| Friendship is a sheltering tree; | |
| O the joys, that came down shower-like, | 20 |
| Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, | |
| Ere I was old! | |
| Ere I was old? Ah, woful Ere, | |
| Which tells me, Youth ‘s no longer here! | |
| O Youth! for years so many and sweet, | 25 |
| ‘Tis known that thou and I were one; | |
| I’ll think it but a fond conceit— | |
| It cannot be that thou art gone! | |
| Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll’d— | |
| And thou wert aye a masker bold! | 30 |
| What strange disguise hast now put on, | |
| To make believe that thou art gone? | |
| I see these locks in silvery slips, | |
| This drooping gait, this alter’d size: | |
| But springtide blossoms on thy lips, | 35 |
| And tears take sunshine from thine eyes! | |
| Life is but thought: so think I will | |
| That Youth and I are housemates still. | |
| Dewdrops are the gems of morning, | |
| But the tears of mournful eve! | 40 |
| Where no hope is, life ‘s a warning | |
| That only serves to make us grieve, | |
| When we are old! | |
| That only serves to make us grieve | |
| With oft and tedious taking-leave, | 45 |
| Like some poor nigh-related guest | |
| That may not rudely be dismist. | |
| Yet hath outstay’d his welcome while, | |
| And tells the jest without the smile. |
I don’t think we ever really know who we are, as we are always changing. When we think we have it figured out- life, or ourselves!, throw us a curve ball, or a new challenge, or a new stage- and that gives us new perspective. I think we put a lot of pressure on ourselves to try to figure it all out- when there is really no need. Its a journey, and as long as your stick to what is truly important to you, hold fast to your core values, and follow your passions- in time we figure it out. But at least we know, that on the way there, we were true to our souls. And I think that’s the best anyone can do.