Almost a year ago I posted my grief and angst about the lot of my life — wistful for a time and place where I could feel traction under my boots. That my life wasn’t deferred for the sake of others (no matter how noble my intentions) but rather actualized as I had envisioned them when I sat on a plane back to Memphis at 22 years old, writing my bucket list for things to do, see, have, be. And yet now a year later, I really do have quite a few of these already in the works.
Today i changed the name on the power bill. For four years, I’ve been envisioning a time when i would take over the MLGW account. Four years that i was living safe and securely thanks to my grandmother’s wealth. The truth is now that I have the power (forgive my pun) I feel so lost without an external locus of control.
I’m getting exactly what I want and it comes with equal measures gratitude and grief.
Gratitude that I have undeniable abundance — grief that the treasures are fleeting, can’t be held, can’t change my mortality, nor keep my loved ones within my grasp.
Gratitude that I actually am getting the things I once only dreamed — fear that holy f@#$ this could actually come true. It wasn’t just a daydream but rather something that i got a sneak peak of almost a decade ago. The illusions are not only possible, they’re happening in quick succession.
I can now afford my bills, I have the relationships I treasure, I get to do my art (write, play music, act), I get to travel. I live as professional creative as Bohemian as I please.
It’s the melancholy of the green light. To think of all I’m capable of and the life I’m living (thanks to recovery and God’s Providence indubitably) brings such overwhelming joy but it also brings the grief of knowing — that twenty something would never believe this life could actually be possible. And yet, today’s version of me stands in the shadow of the future with just as much yearning to see what’s next as my younger form did for the promise land of 30.
The only metaphor I can see for myself is some strange twist of All About Eve — my elder form of Margo Channing staring back with a bit of knowing contempt at ingenue Merit. Yes, you’ll get what you want but your hunger and drive is something that can’t be excised. You’ve got to make friends with it, accept it for the dangerous animal it is, or risk losing it all (and you will anyway).
