I don't know

               My coherent incoherency was as endless as the day itself. The warm water was glistening around me whispering beautiful coos and hums, as if inviting me to stay in its body forever. I felt as if we would stay forever. I believed that we would be that close, that fun, that safe and silly and free and daring and confidant forever. Silly is my favorite luxury, and also the first insult I ever got in trouble for. If someone had told me that any young boy or moment or fight with my parents or job interview let down would have ever thieved any of our individual boldness from us, infecting the others with insecurity, I would’ve laughed in their face. I was as much in love with those girls as I envisioned myself loving my own future daughters. They were my peers, but so much more.

 I’ve never understood others when they recall memories from the past and describe them with such detail yet claim that they didn’t know how good that memory was while they were living it. In every big, meaningful stepping stone and glistening second of effortless happiness I have known it as a moment that would stay with me forever. I have looked around and devoted more mental energy into that stream of conscious minutes than any test I’ve ever taken, knowing full well that my current state of being was one I would recall to future children at some point, shaping me into new, unrecognizable versions of myself, having known more fulfillment than I ever could of asked for.

 I wonder if we can truly hone in on it, our moments of blinding light, if we don’t live our moments of deafening dark with the same vigor? People claiming to be living but dead to half of themselves. We’re made up by particles and atoms, but demand the freedom of the full feeling of life. Feeling, emotion, that’s what drives our lives isn’t it? Why are we doing ourselves a disservice in running from the uncomfortable? You know what makes me uncomfortable? The phone rings and it’s my dad. Or I turn off the interstate after my four hour drive south into my small, southwest Virginia, Appalachian town, and social anxiety creeps in, holding me captive. The ever expected and predictable, earth shattering question; What are your plans after graduation? I mean, come on, do any of our elders (all respect implied) really have the right to ask us such a question in this economy, this day in age? No one really knows where they’re going or what they’re doing, or no one that’s worth a good conversation anyway. But you see, I’m not allowed to run. I have no rights in escapism. Well, there’s school, Richmond, the city, my friends, buttttt I still allow those dreaded moments to infiltrate my self-perception, my psyche, because, just maybe, I need the push. I need the accountability. I need to damn well believe in myself with ten times the confidence it takes to say “You know, I don’t really know where I’m going, but I know that I want to write. I know that I want to live in a city that I love. I know that I want to speak to women and America. I know that I will make myself proud. I know that my ambition and work ethic will work for me. I know that I won’t settle, and that’s all anyone needs to know.” I guess the question is; how well can you know yourself while living solely in the light? How could I possibly know what I love so passionately about myself (candor, bravery), without knowing what I hate about myself (hyper criticism that consumes me and suffocates my relationships, fear, a flighty mind, insubordinate disorganization)? We need to know ourselves so that when it comes down to it, we live your truth.