I think I wrote this in 1998, then I babysat for a family who are still such good friends of mine. At the time, I was so in process, unsure of who I was, and so insecure, but they were like light to me, a picture of what I wanted to be like when I grew up. I started babysitting for them at Christmas time, and they were southern and their home had this simple sweetness to it that I couldn’t get over, and I remember seeing the pictures on their walls, moments of joy and fun and friendship and family and I was inspired by them and couldn’t wait to have a life of my own, like there’s one day.

Somewhere between to be or not to be
I stop and stare at those who seemingly have gotten there.
Their faces in the pictures on their walls stilled and captured moments of life’s greatest pleasures.
I crept gently through their home’s rooms, like rooms of the heart, peering deeper to find reflections of who they are, where they’re going, and how they’ve gotten there.
Sometimes, I get all choked up inside with admiration and joy for them, yet also with sobs and wondering from my soul, tears in my eyes, and, along with the prayer, the wish that I, too, will arrive one day. To that certain somewhere, a sacred place in life. Here I am in the middle and not quite there, but on my way to anywhere. Still, I am in the process of being; I scurry and scramble to make my life a little more. I work in a coffee shop downtown, go to school, study, and, on the side, pursue my passion for writing. What is it about the here and now that I cannot understand, and I find it hard to love the me now, where, and who I am? It seems that things will be better one day when God lets my body be. Then I would like to look in the mirror and say, ‘there”. I don’t want much but peace, to simply be me, authentically. And I see myself far in the distance a few years, relaxed, calm, and settled, dressed and sitting in a chair, outside a local Starbucks in a town I call home. With a place of my own tucked inside, I’d write and sing and live a beautiful life, always having fresh flowers in the vase by the door, just because. And sitting in there in a chair, I’d lean back and listen to the sounds around me, the song of my soul. With peace and grace and gentleness about me, I want to shimmer, I want to shine, I want to radiate, I want to live, I want to love, I want to learn not how to hate, and finally, I’ve learned to love this woman’s ways. So, I guess I’d admit I come as I am. I need more for me, but are you enough? Big enough? Warm enough? Good enough? To fill the space in between me and who I dream to be? It sure feels lonely in the middle, like a long sleepless night, with a world around you that is big and bright and always glowing; it seems when I’m empty, all I need is just … enough.