I will be bliss

“I’ll share a reflection…”

A phrase I used to hear often.

And one that I hope I hear more….

Because reflecting is important. Not like a “make your bed every morning” kind of important, but more like a “brush your teeth every morning” kind of important. Definitely floss daily. And try not to eat candy or sweets after either.

It’s important because after reaching milestones in life, as an individual or as a collective–whether big, small, short, tall, lovely, or hideous–reflections, through distance and space, can give us perspective. Reflections beget hindsight, or a new awareness developed through the passing of time after first hand exposure to… a matter (i.e. an occurrence, a circumstance, an event, a relationship).

Hindsight is the place where we can notice the themes and patterns of our past. We can have “aha!’ moments. We can identify lessons learned and find growth opportunities. We can dissect areas in our personal lives, or collective histories, that remain stagnant and need to change. We can use our new awareness to spark conscious evolutions. And, in hindsight, we can ultimately decide to do the future different. Better. As we transmute and transcend the past.

Yadda… yadda… yadda…

I write this because… last month, I turned thirty.

And I didn’t know that when you turned thirty, for the first time, people start thinking that you’re old. And they might even ask if you’ve stopped counting your years of age yet (true story). As if thirty is too many to keep track of. As if thirty is even “old.”

What I will say is: thirty has been a more visceral shift than other birthdays. And as I enter this decade transition and head into the next phase of my chronological journey, I want to take a moment to reflect on the last ten years of my life.

Here goes:

My twenties were a… fluctuating time.

Fluctuating because they encompassed more radical, non-linear shifts than I would have formerly believed my nervous system could handle. Some shifts paralleled with progression, while others were more pendulum-like, causing me to reach extremes, all the while eager to eventually stabilize and re-gain control. Shifts that I chose, kind of. Felt called to choose, more so, even though we know that, “The only difference between fate and free will is perspective.” Most importantly, shifts that I am proud of, and that, in cumulation, have made me who I am today.

My twenties were sprinkled with elements of self-actualization, and also social-discovery.

Over the last 10 years, I’ve questioned constantly: who am I? And, why am I here? I faced the existential early on, optimistically wondering: what was the purpose of life, and of living? I compulsively questioned my role and purpose in society, not fully knowing: where did I belong? What did I want from life, but also, what did life want from me?

My twenties contained themes of integration, and also running away.

I adopted a seeker’s attitude wherever I went. And that journey took me to 12+ cities across 10 states. I fell in love with each new city, and its peoples, but also realized when it was time to leave; when I learned my lessons. For example, and to thank a few: Gainesville kept me safe while I practiced independence; New York City showed me my shadow and, bluntly and brutally, shattered my illusions and ego; Waianae healed my wounds and revealed to me the power of the divine feminine; Miami showed me the potential of who I can be, and of what the World could look like if we collaborate, dream big, and take risks; Every city in between, and its peoples, welcomed me with open arms for as long as I needed an abode. Yet, I didn’t make any of these stopping points my permanent home. Always flying away nearly the moment I landed.

My twenties had days of feeling the pressures of social expectations, and also following what truly aligned with my authentic self.

I made decisions that probably disappointed people, and terrified others, as I said no to some opportunities and avoided many more. Decisions that saddened colleagues and friends, as I left jobs and apartments to move on to new horizons. But, I made decisions that were for me. And if they were for me, I also knew that they were for everyone, even if subjective perspective and hindsight took time to catch up.

My twenties encompassed constant change and occasional loss, and also re-births and authentic beauties.

I write about my awakening to the constancy of change in There’s Snow in the Desert, where I acknowledge that while sometimes change takes time, it is also inevitable. I endured change frequently in my twenties, and sometimes, I felt loss and separation and loads of grief because of it. Yet, through it all, I gained new wisdoms and new ways of looking at the world, of understanding myself in relation to others and our local and global humanities. I read books, I talked to therapists and coaches, and I engaged in spiritual rituals, from new moon circles to bible study to Santería masses to astrology courses to a pilgrimage in the Himalayas, to heal. I realized the profoundness of interconnectedness and the cycle of life that begins with birth and ends with re-birth. In seeking what is true, I learned of love, and found hope in the Les Misérables verse: “To love another person is to see the face of God.”

During my twenties (and for many years prior), I lived with a shell. And at the same time, I also wanted to break free from that shell.

When I was three years-old, I was given this shell–an imaginary mold which bound my identity with limitations of who I could be, and what I could accomplish, in this world. The shell kept me safe throughout youth, adolescence, and young adulthood. It let me develop, physically and emotionally, while I skipped across rocks and splashed under bridges. When I reached my twenties, my journey became one of discovering this shell–the mold of who I thought I had to be, and what I thought I was supposed to do, in this world. Then, my late twenties became a journey of wanting and beginning to peal the crusty calcium carbonate off, liberating myself of all shells and molds and egos that bound me, so that I could ultimately become anything that I wanted to be and accomplish anything that I set my mind to.

Turning the corner to my thirties, I know that it’s time to fully remove the shell. Maybe eventually grow a new one, but for now, sparkle without it for a while.

In hindsight, and as I fully embrace this new decade, here are some of my biggest takeaways that I’ll bring with me in order to make the future different. Better…

Sometimes we lie to ourselves. For a while, I legitimized the expectations of others and the social constructs of the world to guide my life. Even though I had dreams bigger than the Milkyway, I was scared to pursue them. So I lied to myself: they were inconceivable, they were illogical, they were not for a person like me. I grieved through the loneliness and confusion this caused for a while, until I recognized my own fear. In conquering fear, I realized that anything was truly possible. But then, ironically, I subsequently learned that our biggest dreams might also be illusions themselves. My childhood dreams weren’t too grandiose or unattainable, they just lacked synchronicity with my authentic values–the one’s I learned of in adulthood. Acknowledging the non-truths of my past that I carried into the present led me to the wild and beautiful real truths of my future and my now.

It’s okay to spend time experimenting and experiencing. Around nineteen, I philosophized that the purpose of life was to be happy – as much as one possibly could. Happiness could be achieved by doing what we wanted to do, whenever we wanted to do it, as long as it did no harm to others, or one’s self. I thought life was supposed to be fun. All of the time. So I avoided discomfort, when possible, and did what made me comfortable and happy, when possible. Until I later realized that the purpose of life was actually living, and living meant experiencing all of the things – all of the emotions, all of the matters, all of the relationships – not just happiness. Life was about experience and experiencing by experimenting. Not just doing, but also being as many things as we could possibly do and be in a lifetime. Trying on many hats, identities, relationships, and purposes because, through these many experiences, we could discover the meaning of life, which is to live and to love limitlessly.

The grass is greener where you water it. As much as experimenting and being nimble and mutable is relevant, seeing something through is too. Giving up too early might not always be the intuitive decision, but the impassioned one. I walked this very fine line in my twenties, and more times than not, gravitated towards being a hummingbird. Flying away before I landed, however, kept me from experiencing depth and community. Eventually, I came to realize that there is also beauty in being a tree – slow and steady, patient and giving, connected with deep roots. Our lives often reflect our deepest values, and consistency is what engenders community if we’re willing to bloom where we’re planted.

Trust in the timing of your life. I found myself at war with cognitive dissonance for much of my twenties. The discrepancy between my reality and my desires often clouded my attention to the present moment, causing me to ignore much of the amazing-ness that was always around me. Chronic day dreaming made me feel like a powerful psychic some days. Yet, others it was a misuse of my imagination because the journey is what mattered, not the end goal. Even though the visions of the tomorrows don’t stop coming, it’s the here and the now that deserves our trust and our time.

Big love requires being seen. The biggest lesson of all found me in the last few weeks of my twenties. Well, really it had been lurking in the shadows for much of the last ten years, but in my final days as a twenty-nine year-old I decided to open my arms and welcome it in. That is: Love is Vulnerability. And Love is also Power. Love is the powerful destruction of the mask (ego) and the pretend (expectation) and the illusion (fear) for the sake of what is true and deep and meaningful. Love is who we are and why we are, although it might not always be that obvious. And this Big Love requires being seen. Big Love is breaking free from the shell–the shell of my 20s.

If the world is our mirror (and vis versa), then the greatest gift we can give the world, and others, is the reflection of our own authentic expressions. The greatest gift is being seen. It’s living without the shell.

After reflecting on my twenties…

I’m choosing a new decade of: Truth, Meaning, Community, Trust, & Big Love.

XXOO,