The Bohemian Review

Poetry is a passion of mine, it is my way of unscrambling the messed up areas of my life into a somewhat organized picture in my mind. It has proven to be a release valve for me throughout many of my life’s triumphs and tribulations. I have awakened from a deep sleep, jumped out of bed and have begun scribbling words onto a piece of paper, almost an obsession at times but always fulfilling.

I remember the first poem I ever wrote, it was in 8^th grade for an English assignment. As I began writing, I was amazed at how the words took on a life of their own. Up until that moment, I had never considered how writing my thoughts and feelings down could make me feel. Afterwards, I was constantly scribbling verses and lines and it became part of my daily routine.  Throughout my high school years of melodrama, I would write these poetic words as a release for the turmoil in my life and thus writing became a part of me throughout most of my early life.

Then for a while, I forgot to remember how writing cures the aches of the soul, I forgot that expressing oneself through words is not only therapeutic but also uplifting, I forgot that by giving up a part of myself I was giving up the person I was to be. I forgot that passions or talents should not be taken for granted or allowed to fall by the wayside but should be nourished and cultivated and expanded upon.

Miraculously though, and to me it was a miracle, I began to write again. It wasn’t as free flowing as it had been at first, though I remember vividly the day I was inspired to write again and couldn’t just not write. I was on a trip to Germany and the sites, the sounds, the feelings that were invoked were overpowering. It was as though I was awakening from a deep sleep and realized that my life could be so much more than I had allowed it to be for the last few years. I began scribbling away and realized that this was my gift, my one true talent and that if I didn’t use it this time I would probably never get it back again.

“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest  accomplishment.”            ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Remember When?
I remember thinking when I was young  ~ I never want to grow up.

It was a thought that materialized when it dawned on me that the grown up world was one of deadlines, stress and unhappiness. It seemed to be a world where no one fully trusted themselves or others and no one dared to be. I had the feeling that once I attained this state of adulthood I would have to give up my free spirit and become confined and regimented.

In my neck of the woods, being a grown up equaled being a person who had seized to be reckless, had seized to be experimental, had seized to be unique. It involved conforming to the rules and regulations of what we were told were the way it was. It involved burying our passions to not draw attention to ourselves and striving for normalcy. Those with the gusto to not conform were seen as the artists or the ones on the outside looking into this modern day Norman Rockwell and all that that entailed. It was an expectation that never quite materialized but was heeded as the norm, never the less. For me it was the beginning of the end, a surrender of myself and a pretense of something I was never meant to be.

I followed this course for many years, lost many dreams and pretended to be content. Eventually, thankfully, I reemerged and began to take back my childlike ways. I began to remember when life was fun, carefree and an adventure, when trampling through the woods equaled a magical existence and a fairytale world where imagination thrived and life was grand. Remember When?

I wonder when it is that running and skipping on the beach goes from a cute expression of the love of life and happiness to a glance from strangers as if something must be wrong with that one?  When is it that dancing in the rain becomes a chore, wet and sloppy instead of an expression of pure joy?  When is it that waking up each day to see the sun come up seems strange and weird to people instead of what life should be about?  When is it that we care more about what other people expect of us than our own expectations for ourselves? Whenever this is, it is the time that we start to grow up or old, depending on your perspective. It is the time that we notice we are different and start to dread the looks that we receive because of it.

I’ve come to realize that becoming the norm is the same as turning over the reins of your horse to the person in front of you. This person leads and directs you by dragging you along on the path that they have chosen. If you allow this to happen you lose your identity and become just a shell of the person you dreamed you were as a child. It is like the old story of the elephant held in chains. At first he tries the chains and sees that they are strong but even though the chains are removed, in his mind they are still there and he never takes a chance and escapes the bondage that is only in his mind.

I now see life as glorious; I see the magic that surrounds me every day. I wake up giving thanks for all of the beauty and blessings that have been bestowed upon me. I know that my life is my own, I am the director of my one act play and the orchestrator of my own symphony. I know that whether I take each day in stride or if I skip my way along the rocky shores, it is all up to me. I can dance and twirl on the beach if I so choose, I can dance around the campfire singing and howling at the moon, I can dream of a love that will endure the test of time and I can have it all. I want each day to be looked upon with childish expectations and dreams. I want to always believe in the best of people and expect the best in people. I want to have the faith to believe. I want to remain childlike and to live life with every breath I have. I want to remember when I first had a dream.

“ The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”  ~ Henry David Thoreau